


Emily Beale-Mitchell and Her Two Moms

by cheeky_geek_m0nkey



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Emily lovechild AU, F/F, lovechild au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 22,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheeky_geek_m0nkey/pseuds/cheeky_geek_m0nkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of all the lovechild AU prompts and the consequential minifics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beca and Chloe with toddler Em :D — sent by anonymous

“Unnnghhh make it stopppp,” Beca groaned, flipping onto her back and holding a pillow to her chest with crossed arms. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, as if opening them was the final surrender to the morning.  Still, she knew that Chloe had blinked sleepily, and she could feel the redhead’s smug grin. 

A soft lilt had been drifting into the room for the better half of an hour, announcing day break with nonsensical lyrics and a less-than-present tune. It was a baby voice - a squeaky, rounded baby voice - trying to tell a story by throwing in a mindless melody. Beca swears she’s heard this one before, with all the simulated explosions and dramatic gasps. 

“It’s better than crying,” Chloe said with a sigh, preparing herself to sit up. “And I know someone else who bravely interrupts regular sleeping schedules in the name of music…”

Beca opened her eyes then, simply because she never wanted to throw away an opportunity for eye-rolling. “Yes, but  _I_ use headphones.” 

Shrugging, Chloe gave Beca a wink. “You gotta start somewhere.” She gave Beca a peck on the nose, turning away before Beca grabbed her face and kissed her properly. “G’Mornin,” she hummed, throwing out the first contented smile of the day. The smile quickly turned into a grimace, though, as she sat there with Chloe’s forehead pressed against her own while their daughter’s song grew louder. Chloe nipped at Beca’s ear playfully, pulling away and tapping on her shoulder. “Let’s go, babe. Duty calls.” 

–

Em was sitting upside down on her bed, her legs hanging in the air and her hair fanned over the light purple and white headboard (Chloe voted for a pink themed room, but Beca, balancing an impossibly smaller Emily easily on hip, sighed and argued, “We want her to have, like, a  _little_ street-cred, Chlo”). She was using her hands for a sort of one-person puppet show, but she was decidedly singing gibberish. Her hand was twirling to a particularly long string of “laaaa la la laaaa”s when Beca and Chloe opened the door, leaned against either side of the door frame. Beca lightly knocked against the wall, knowing already how panicked the little girl became when someone surprised her. She did next to nothing wrong, but was always stopping like a deer in headlights when she was caught off-guard. 

Sure enough, even the light knock pulled Em’s song to a complete stand-still, and she immediately turned her head with wide, scared eyes. The fear dissipated the minute she saw her moms in the doorway, Chloe donning bright pink and green flannel pajamas while Beca wore oversized sweatpants and a tank top. With a strength and agility Chloe’s yoga trainer would be amazed by, Em pulled herself up from where she sat, her eyes alight with excitement. “Mommyyyyy,” she said with a smile that was cartoony in all of it’s wonder. ( “How the fuck did I get ‘mommy’ while you got ‘mom’?” Beca said almost constantly. “Do I  _look_ like a mommy to you?”) She held her arms out, wiggling her fingers. Beca, once the morning grump - inoperable before her morning cup of coffee - smiled just as wide, racing towards Em and picking her up easily, throwing her up in the air a few times. The action made Em giggle-squeal, and by the time Beca stopped, nudging monster-kisses into Em’s cheeks, the little girl was in stitches. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” Chloe said, finally stepping into the room completely. Beca gave her a smug grin, as Emily was now fully wrapped around her with bed-head pressed into her neck. 

“She knows who makes the pancakes around here,” Beca said confidently, pursing her lips and giving a shrug. The move was familiar, one that Chloe’d seen when Beca was first becoming used to having attention geared at her. It was how she nudged away compliments or gestures of affection - the classic, “I deserve this, it’s no big deal” pseudo-cockiness of Beca Mitchell. Chloe rolled her eyes, moving to tickle tiny Em by pressing one of the music notes that was dotting her pajamas. 

“Mornin’ sweetie,” she said, kissing Em’s forehead, “That song was out of this world.” 

Em giggled, burrowing deeper into Beca’s bosom, “’S for you!” 

Both women opened their eyes wider, raising their eyebrows and smirking. “Ooh, wow, I’m honored!” Chloe said, trying to tame the little girl’s hair. “It sounded more beautiful than Ariel, you know.” 

Squinching her nose, Em let out a little giggle. “Noooo,” she said, but there was a hint of pride in her voice. 

Beca nodded, though she didn’t particularly enjoy encouraging Em’s loud pre-dawn activities. “You take after your mother that way.”

Chloe hummed, and it sounded almost like an agreement. 

Which mother either of them was referring to didn’t much matter. 


	2. The One Where Stories are Told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do a mini fanfic where Emily is Beca and Chloe's daughter and they have to make Emily understand how they fell in love? P.s your mini fanfics are literally the first thing I read in a morning..... x — sent by please-aca-pitch

It’s wasn’t as if Emily didn’t know her moms were in love. 

That part was obvious since…well, since before she was even aware of remembering. 

She saw it in the way that Chloe started watching the clock at exactly 6:13pm every night, scurrying around the kitchen to get dinner finished. Because she knew that Beca left the studio at 6:10, would be on the road by 6:14, and would be home by 6:32 on the dot, and every second that inched closer to the one that brought Beca home pumped more bounce into Chloe’s step. 

She saw it in the way Beca watched Chloe in the hours before their Saturday date nights, leaning on the doorframe to watch Chloe curl her hair or put on mascara and waiting for when the redhead would ask for help zipping her up. For a brief moment between the ages of 7 and 12, Emily would hop around the room while they got ready, and once she asked to zip her mom up instead. Chloe looked surprised, and Beca, for the shortest of seconds, looked almost perturbed. 

She saw it in the way they always made time to sit on the couch before breakfast, giggling over the morning news - a tradition that started back when they were in school together and it took all of Chloe’s efforts to get Beca to start her days. She saw it in the way they never seemed to be able to be disconnected when they were near each other, and in the way that even when they argued there was a twinkle in their eyes. 

And when she had friends over, they saw it too. She remembered scooting as far into the blanket fort that her mother had helped her build on the one day her school and the studio had off for snow. Dave and Steve Posen looked at each other, giggling, as their parents all sat at the dinner table in the other room. “What, guys?” Emily had asked when they peeked under the blanket to look out. “Don’t be butts. What’s so funny?” 

She remembered how they looked at each other, their blonde hair a little too long over their eyes, and Dave finally turned to Emily to whisper, “They’re kiss _ing_ , Em.” 

“Yeah, and they hold hands a  _lot_ ,” Steve added, awed. “Mom and Dad don’t do that stuff. It’s funn _y.”_

But the question of how it happened never really occurred to Emily until now. She assumed that that love was the kind that was always there, not allowing for any build but just kind of…busting through like their own personal Big Bang (but not, like, in a weird way. In the scientific way). 

So, as she sat on the floor with Beca’s knees on one sit of her and Chloe’s on the other as they finished up the romantic comedy on the screen in front of them, she was surprised that the question fell from her mouth. She didn’t even know she was wondering about it until it was out in the open. 

“Oh, um,” she felt Beca straighten under the weight of the question, pulling away from Chloe to communicate with a look. Emily took the chance to spin around, facing them. She saw her mother blush, was, as per usual, was met by a winking twinkle in her mom’s eye. “Chlo, you wanna take this?” 

“Well,  _I_ was loyal from the moment I saw your mother, you know,” Chloe started, shooting a teasing glare at Beca, who slapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Like, I saw her, and that was it. Mind made. She’d be my wife.” 

“Bull-fucking-shit,” Beca spat out, sitting forward. Chloe prompted slapped her head, ruffling her hair, and saying, “Lan _guage_ , Becs.” 

“Your mom, despite her innocent appearance, is a romantic who likes to change the past with _lies,”_ Beca said. Her elbows sat on her knees, and she was tapping her foot. “Because Mrs. Chloe Beale-Mitchell rented her shower stall out long after she met me.” 

Immediately, the sound of Chloe’s offended squeal was louder than Emily’s face of confusion, and when Beca was hit in the back of the head with a couch cushion, Emily assumed she shouldn’t ask more about that. She just cleared her throat, drawing her moms’ attention back from where they were nearing a tickle-fight. 

“We were  _friends_ ,” Chloe clarified, smoothly, “We were friends for a long time.” 

“And…like…what made it different all the sudden?” Emily pressed, causing Beca to bite her lip. 

“Well, for me,” Chloe started, putting her arm on Beca’s shoulder and resting her chin on it, “Bree - Aunt Aubrey - pointed it out. I remember I swear I thought she was going to tell me that she’d joined the mafia or something, because she planned out the conversation. Texted me to plan a date to meet and everything. Which…like, Em, we were  _roommates.”_ Chloe paused to let Emily giggle, then continued. “But anyway, she sat me down and said, ‘Your toner for Beca is out of control, and frankly, it’s so big it’s distracting.’” 

“Ew,” Beca muttered, but she was smiling, wagging her eyebrows in a teasing way at Emily as her thumbnail sat between her teeth. 

“But anyway, then it kinda clicked,” Chloe said, “Like, when your mother was around, she was all I could think about. So, I waited until this goofball came to her senses and dumped Uncle Jesse’s ass. Bada-bing-bada-boom, I showed her the wonders of camping and…The rest is history.”

She pressed a kiss to Beca’s temple, and Emily watched as her mother leaned into it, nearly humming. 

“Of course, the moment I  _fell_ in love might’ve been when she sauntered onto stage and rocked that plastic yellow cup.” 

“Oh goddddd,” Beca groaned, burrowing her head into her hands, “Do  _not_ remind me again.” 

Emily laughed. She’d heard the cup story too many times to count, and they never really discussed the incident wherein she was caught at 3am, age 11, cross-legged on the floor with a plastic cup in her hand. “What about you, Ma?” 

“Well, I’m inclined to say it happened when your mom snuck into my shower - in a  _totally_ platonic, completely  _non_ consensual way that I would  _never_ recommend, Kid,” she bit at the side of her cheek to keep from breaking into a wide smile at the memory, “But it took me a lot longer to realize it. Uncle Jesse actually kind of told me. In a conversation that might’ve been _the_ most uncomfortable one I’ve ever had. That involved my boyfriend telling my I was in love with my best friend.” 

“Those damn Posens are know-it-alls,” Chloe added, slapping her knee and shaking her head dramatically, but winking at Emily all the while. 

“Anyway, yeah, Kid, it wasn’t really  _falling_  in love, it was….like…waking up and realizing you fell somewhere along the course of your nap. And then, just, digging myself deeper and deeper into it. Partially on purpose.” 

“God,” Emily breathed out, moving to stand and popping her knees when she did. “I don’t…You guys are insane.” 

Beca followed her daughter’s movements, standing up and wiping her hands on her jeans before pulling Chloe up with a grunt. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach, but she threw an arm around Emily, throwing her into a headlock. “But admit it, you love us too, Kid,” she grunted before throwing in a noogie. Emily was only saved by Chloe’s tickle, which hit Beca right on her side. 

And, yeah, she knew her moms were in love. With each other. And with her. 


	3. The One With the Sex Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...it's what it sounds like.

“This is not…ugh,” Beca ran her hands through her hair, looking up at the ceiling to collect her thoughts. Chloe watched as she exhaled, her cheeks puffing out for full effect. “This is so not a conversation I want to have.” 

Chloe smiled, rubbing Beca’s back and putting her head on the smaller girl’s shoulder. “I know, babe.” 

They sat like that as a few moments passed, and then Chloe chuckled lightly. “Would it help if I said that Bree’s threatened to personally cut out our voice boxes if we didn’t ‘properly inform’ our daughter ‘for once in her life’? Because ‘Dave has way too much potential to have herpes’.” 

“What does that even mean???” Beca smiled, shaking her head. She wasn’t ever exactly surprised when Aubrey was over-protective of her twin boys, but she spent so much time with their father that sometimes she forgot what kind of household they ran. She pressed her cheek on the top of Chloe’s head, inhaling in a way that seemed like she was gathering up all the strength in the world. “It’s still weird though, right?” Chloe laughed again. “I mean, it’s not everyday that you have to give your kid the talk because no one wants everyone’s favorite new aca-child couple to have aca-children of their own.” 

“Oh my godddd,” Chloe groaned, pressing more into Beca with her eyes closed. It was Beca who laughed, then, nudging Chloe’s side with her elbow. 

“I don’t know, I think I’d make a hot grandma.” From where they were lying in bed, she wiggled her hips, earning a playful slap on the arm from her wife. 

“You’re the worst,” Chloe said between giggles. Then she tried to become somber, biting her lip to stop smiling. “But you  _are_  going to be the sexiest grandma…At least fifty years from now. No sooner, no later.” 

“Well, we’re in agreement on that.” 

–

“So,” Chloe took a breath, dropping her fork with a clank against the plate. She put her hands on the table, clasped together. “Emily…” 

“So….” Emily repeated, looking between her moms suspiciously. Their dinner had passed by in near silence, with occasional “This is good, Ma, what’d you put in it?” and “Oh, I wanted to make sure that show was recording”. Beca spent the meal staring carefully down at her plate, her brows furrowed as if she was considering something dire and urgent. 

She was a nervous eater - always had been, Chloe told Emily when her mother had eaten an entire jar of Nutella the first time they hosted a joint-family Christmas. Beca always argued that that was just Chloe’s excuse for stealing food from her plate, but whenever she had to sign a new artist or was awaiting final album approval, the cracks of the couch cushions would be littered with Cheetos packets and gummy worm dust.  So, when she started shoveling down the rice on her plate and mindlessly reaching for more, Emily’s stomach started to turn. Her mind flew through every interaction she’d had with her moms over the past week, somehow carrying days of memory in flashes of seconds - just enough time to convince her that something terrible was about to happen. 

It was a nasty habit of hers - this game of “Imagine the Worst Scenario”. Before her solo in the fifth grade Christmas concert, Beca gave her a set of rules for controlling it. “You get that anxious bit from me, yunno,” Beca had said, wringing her hands but maintaining eye contact with the quickly growing girl, “Even though you clearly aren’t going to get my height…But anyway. I’ve had years to perfect the management of those butterflies, yeah?” She had poked Emily in the side then, forcing giggles to burst from the little girl. “Tickles help, for sure. Your mother taught me that one. But, when you don’t have a master tickler around, you’ve got to make do with what you have. You’ve got to distract. Got it?” 

Emily swallowed the scenes she was creating in her head, though it tasted mostly like overcooked rice. “So,” she repeated again, garnering more certainty, “I’m going to the Posens’ tonight, if you don’t mind.” 

She watched as Chloe’s eyes flashed to Beca’s. When she received no look back, she kicked her wife under the table not-so-subtly. Beca jumped, shouting Chloe a glare. When Chloe cocked her head to Emily, Beca took a deep breath in. Emily watched the entire scene, trying her best to push away every image of hospital beds and divorce papers that flew through her mind. 

Beca cleared her throat, scooting the broccoli around on her plate as she did so. “What’re you planning on doing there?” 

Emily threw her a look, confused. “Um, hang out. Like normal.” 

The response, apparently, was not what was wanted, if Beca’s glare to the ceiling was any indication. Chloe scratched her neck, leaning forward again. “Em, that’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about…” 

Emily tried to swallow another spoonful of rice, but it got stuck in her throat. When she finished her coughing fit, she lost control of her words. “Okay, what’re you guys talking about? Because I’m really starting to get scared, and when I get scared you know I can’t think straight, and Mom you’ve been weird all night like you didn’t come upstairs after work to check in and are you guys getting a divorce because I read that children of divorce are less likely to succeed in corporate Ameri–OHMYGOD are you sick, Ma? You said you were lightheaded last week and I–”

“Em!” Beca shouted, “Em, Jesus Christ, take a breather.” 

Emily, whose eyes had glazed over halfway through her anxious rant, finally snapped back to focus, blinking and shutting her mouth. 

“Shit, she’s worse than you,” Beca muttered, nudging Chloe, “Impressive. And scary as fuck.”

“ _Language,”_ Chloe chastised, and the familiar interaction helped Emily to breathe easier. Beca rolled her eyes. 

“You really want to critique me about my language when we’re about to give our daughter the sex talk?” Beca muttered the words under her breath, shooting them at Chloe and scoffing.  

“Wait, the sex talk?!?” The uncomfortable stares being thrown around the dinner table suddenly all clicked into place, as Emily finally understood what the tension was all about. 

Chloe took a breath, freeing her hands to move as she spoke. She looked as if she was preparing to rehearse a script, and when she started talking, it was clear she planned her words, her tones, and her pitches. “Em, honey, you’re getting older, and obviously you’ve…grown-up, and we think it’s time we talked to you about, um, well, yunno, boys and/or girls and your…urges.” 

Beca winced, groaning when Chloe let out the last word, which promptly drove Chloe to tut, irritated. “You think you can do better?” Chloe said, holding her hand out towards Emily. “Go for it.” 

“Fuck,” Beca mumbled, finally putting her fork down and sitting back. She blew air out, her eyes focused on the floor. “Okay. So. Sex. It’s, um, like. So, it’s a thing that is good. You know. When you want it, it’s dope. Not dope. I don’t know why I said that, I don’t say things like that. No, it’s like, when both people want to do it, it’s a good time. Of course. And, like, um. Obviously whoever you want to do it with, that’s like, cool. Boys are cool. Girls and stuff, you know…”

Her hands had been rolling around an invisible ball the entire time, and she paused at several points to clear her throat, so that by the end of her speech, Emily had accidentally carved a dent in to the table and Chloe was wearing a victorious grin. “Smooth, Mitchell,” Chloe said, scooting up in her chair. “I guess what we’re trying to say is –” 

“Guys,” Emily finally broke through the almost hilarious and completely uncomfortable display, scratching the side of her head. “Guys, take a chill pill. Aunt Stacie beat you to this by a long shot.” 

“Aca-scuse me?!” Chloe spat, her discomfort suddenly changing to surprise as Beca’s face immediately became awash in relief. 

“Yeah, Mom, um, like, by about 5 years.” 

Beca was smiling lighter than she had since the entire meal started, scooting back and leaning into her chair. “Thank God for that woman.” 

Chloe slapped her lightly, glaring. “Having this conversation is a rite of passage for a mother,” she said, crossing her arms, “And Sex God Stacie slipped the rug right out from under us.” 

“D’awww,” Beca teased, still more relieved now that her words needed to be considerably less measured. “I think someone’s jealous…” 

“I mean, to be fair, Bumper Jr. told me in about second grade. Between that and Mom’s five-octave vocal range, I’ve been educated for quite a while now. So you kind of slipped the rug right out from under yourself.” 

“Mmm,” Beca said, smug, “I’m sure Aubrey will be so pleased at our accidental parenting skills.” 


	4. The One on Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Emily celebrated Father's Day with her moms (Beca, Chloe) — sent by anonymous

She liked to wake up to her moms singing, whether it was Chloe standing in the doorway - the softest alarm clock she could wish for - or Beca in the kitchen, the spatula fulfilling it’s main job as imaginary microphone. Emily always woke up on the right side of the bed when it was to one of her moms’ voices. 

Except, it was still early in the summer, and Emily was just started to relish the feeling of sleeping in, and “Love Shack” wasn’t exactly the best thing to start her day with. 

“Oh, shiz,” she whispered, glancing at her clock to realize she overslept. “Shiz, shiz, shiz.” 

In her attempt to run out to the kitchen, she nearly lost her footing on the wood floors twice. When she finally made it out, she found Chloe twirling Beca around her finger, bringing her close for a waltz-like dance. Chloe took the bass notes while Beca sang out “Loooooove shaaaaaack” with a shimmy of her hips. She was wearing boxers, and when she turned Emily was able to read her oversized t-shirt. “Cool Dad Award” was sprawled on the chest with a large blue ribbon. Chloe donned flannel pajama pants, her shirt hemmed a bit more than Beca’s. It read “Hot Papa Alert” (a Christmas present that had Beca’s name  _all_  over it). 

Emily watched the entire performance, not bothering to cover her eyes in shame. The whole embarrassment thing never worked with her parents - actually, it was frequently Beca who rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in embarrassment towards the two other women. She always liked to see them this free,  this unapologetically  _them._

When they finished, Emily came out of the doorway, clapping. Beca, surprised by the sound, hopped and pretended she was mixing the pancake batter the entire time. Chloe, on the other hand, curtsied and threw a few waves to the invisible crowd. 

“So,” Emily said, clapping her hands together awkwardly, “Like, I totally had this aca-awesome breakfast planned for you guys, but my alarm didn’t go off and –” 

Beca walked over to Emily, her eyes stern. She shoved the pancake batter bowl into Emily’s arms. It was nearly empty, dripping on the sides, and chunks of Oreos remained at the bottom. “You’re punishment is cleaning that bowl,” she said with a wry grin, handing Emily a spoon. 

“But save room!” Chloe chastised, cutting up fruit. “Aunt Amy’s coming over for brunch.” 

Amy always made a point to visit her “two favorite lesbi-dads” on Father’s Day. “What better way to celebrate the patriarchal holiday than with two acapella gaydies and their acachild? Your family is like one big middle finger to the man,” she said over the phone when they discussed meal options. 

“Mmm,” Beca nodded, “And the Posen boys are coming over for dinner. Bree’s ‘treating’ Jesse to some twilight gulf with her dad or some shit.”

“Dave told me that his dad just doesn’t want them to see how scared he is of their grandpa,” Emily said, finishing off the bowl, “He said Mr. Posen turns into a wuss around Mrs. Posen’s dad.” 

Beca stifled her laugh when Chloe shot her a glare, though both of their faces hinted at the accuracy behind Emily’s statement. “Oh, aca-of course,” Emily said, slapping the table, “Gifts!” 

The “best dad award” shirt had been Emily’s gift for Beca last year, and she bought Chloe a “Kiss the Cook” apron that was on sale for the holiday. It was their tradition: to be traditional in an utterly untraditional way. 

“So, I mucked up the breakfast in bed thing,” Emily allotted, holding two packages behind her back, “But I–”

“To be fair,” Chloe interrupted, her index finger outstretched, “We did turn off your alarm.” 

“You what?!” Emily squeaked, momentarily confused. Beca shot Chloe a glare, which Chloe received with a shrug and a blush. 

“Becs, I didn’t want her to feel guilty,” Chloe whispered, and Beca rolled her eyes in response. 

“You were up late talking to Dave and Steve,” Beca said, “And…I mean…Um…” 

“And we wanted to celebrate father’s day too, you know,” Chloe finished simply, winking at Beca, which made the smaller woman groan and cover her face. Emily winced, shrugging, because with a mom like Chloe you grew used to those comments. 

“Anywhooo,” Emily sang, pulling the packages out from behind her back. “To my two ridiculous dads, may you always be missing the Y chromosome.” 

Beca snorted, taking the gift eagerly. There wasn’t much her mother showed genuine enthusiasm about, and it was always adorable to see her get excited about presents. She opened it up quickly, ignoring the careful wrapping. Inside was a t-shirt with a suit design printed on it. The fake tie read, “I’m a cool dad”. Beneath the shirt was a pair of socks, each with a sandal printed on them.  

“Holy fucking shit,” Beca said with a grin, wincing preemptively at the slap that Chloe would deliver for her language. “This is fucking awesome.” 

With a tanktop underneath her shirt already, she stripped off her “Best Dad Award” shirt and threw this one on, modeling it briefly. “Your turn, Pops,” she said, nudging Chloe. 

Chloe opened the gift carefully, whistling at the fancy wrapping (Emily learned all she knew from Ms. Christmas herself, Chloe Beale-Mitchell) and running a finger down the taped sides to avoid tears.  What she pulled out of the packaging was a bright blue shirt that said, “I’m a Proud Father of an Aca-Awesome Daughter” and a mug that read, “World’s Best  ~~Father~~ Farter”. Beca snorted when she saw that. “Not untrue,” she muttered, and Chloe slapped her again. 

Emily laughed at the both of them, currently posing in various photos with their newest gifts. “Yo, aca-child, come here,” Beca said, holding out one arm to Emily and the other to take a picture, “We kinda need the proof that today’s  _our_ holiday.” 

“You’re the proof,” Chloe said, as if they didn’t understand, “That’s, like, why we had you.” 

“Shush up,” Emily said, bending down so that all three faces could be on the screen. They snapped the picture, with Beca looking bored (her arms uncrossed, though, so the world could see her ensemble), Chloe kissing Emily’s cheek, and Emily squinching her nose with her hands in a shrug. 

It was Beca’s profile picture for three weeks, Chloe’s for one, and Emily’s for two days. 

“Thanks for making me exist,” Emily said simply, moving to actually plate the breakfast, “And not screwing me up too much.” 

Beca scoffed, throwing a strawberry into her mouth. “We ain’t done yet, shnook ‘ems,” she said.


	5. The One Where Emily Sneaks Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm pretty nervous to suggest this it's okay if you don't like and don't want to it is fine 

She inherited her clumsiness from her mother. At least, that was what Chloe always said. “You got  _my_ looks and her flat-foot,” she’d mumble after dance classes, teeball games, and junior high dances. Emily couldn’t ever argue with her mom, too, because she’d been ice-skating with her parents once every winter and while Chloe floated out on the rink, Beca and Emily walked awkwardly with their blades, hanging onto the wall for support. It never really bothered her, though. She almost became proud of it, seeing the way Chloe looked at Beca whenever she tripped or stubbed her toe. Like she was watching a puppy that never learned how to walk on wood floors. 

Only, the classic Mitchell clumsiness gene wasn’t exactly helpful when one was trying to sneak into a house at 3 in the morning. Slipping on the edge of a step on her way to her bedroom, Emily winced at every thump her body made when she slid down the stairs. 

“You better hope you didn’t wake up your mom with that crap,” she heard Beca say from the living room. The voice jolted her even more awake than the fall down the stairs did, and they both nervously glanced at her parents’ bedroom for a few silent moments. When Chloe didn’t appear in the doorway, Emily sighed. She tried to stand, finding that she’d skinned her knee but was otherwise okay. At least, she was okay for now. The look Beca was giving her implied that she might not make it through the night completely unscathed. 

Emily rushed to her mother, nearly tripping again in an attempt to explain herself. Beca had the world’s worst mother-glare, and even thought Chloe frequently used the whole wolves-eating-vocal-chords threat, Beca’s glare made the threat seem plausible. When she was younger, Aunt Amy had pulled her aside, patting her back. “The ginger is feisty,” she said with a clawing action, “but the little one has Medusa eyes. I don’t pity you, aca-child.” 

“I-I can explain, Ma,” she stuttered, “I just went to Steve and Dave’s house for a little bit. He needed help with his homework and –” 

“Em,” Beca said, crossing her arms. The stare intensified. “Jess and Bree are on another couples retreat. I’m not a fucking idiot.” 

Chloe never liked when Beca swore in front of Emily, but Beca would always respond with “Yeah, well, I swore plenty as she was coming into the world, so I don’t think she’s surprised by it”. Still, Emily winced. She wasn’t great under pressure, and she assumed that giving at least half of the truth was the safest route to go. Which was overwhelmingly dumb, she thought in hindsight, because of  _course_ her mother would know where Mr. and Mrs. Posen were. They came over at least once a week for dinner or a movie night, throwing Steve and Dave (Beca rolled her eyes when she learned that they named their twins after two of the most cliched Hollywood directors of all time, but Chloe swore her to silence on that one) to play or mock or bully Emily. 

“I’m sorry,” Emily tried, tears welling in her eyes before she really realized they were there. Her penchant for crying when she was overwhelmed came from Chloe, and she knew that Beca always viewed it as a sign of weakness. She tried to push them back, but that only encouraged them more. “There were a few people there, but not a lot. Neighborhood kids, you know. They were watching Monty Python. Dave said his dad  _swears_ by it. Even Aunt Bree thinks it’s okay. And I didn’t want to miss the end so I…” 

Beca took a step forward, her glare lessening slightly. She ran her hands through her hair before leaning in to…yeah, she was definitely  _sniffing_ Emily. “Ma?” 

“You smell like popcorn,” Beca determined, her glare breaking then. She lightly slapped Emily on the side of the head. “You smell like popcorn!” 

“Should I be confused or should I keep my mouth shut to avoid punishment?” Emily asked, rubbing the place her mother hit her. 

“Popcorn means movies means you’re telling the truth,” she heard Chloe chime in from the doorway of their bedroom. The redhead moved towards them, lightly slapping Emily’s head in the same way Beca did. “That was dumb, Em.” 

“I know,” Emily admitted. 

“But,” Chloe said, looking at Beca, “What were you doing when you snuck out of your house at 18?” 

Beca avoided Chloe’s eyes, her lip sticking out in a pout. “Not watching movies, that’s for sure,” she mumbled, her arms crossing again. Chloe nodded, “Yeah, I’m well-aware.” 

“You’re still grounded,” Beca said quickly, pointing a finger at Emily. Emily, who knew when to push her parents and knew when to take a seat, just nodded. The skin mark in her knee was starting to burn. 

“No wolves tonight?” she said meekly trying to flash a smile at her parents. Chloe caught the smile, grinning back. Beca looked like she was considering something, and Chloe put a hand on her shoulder. 

“No, hey, we don’t want that,” Chloe said, the comment geared more towards Beca. “Just go to sleep, okay?” 

Emily nodded, heading up the stairs much more slowly than she did originally, trying to avoid the fall that started this mess in the first place. 

“Sneaking out is the first of a long line of criminal behavior, Chlo,” she heard her mother complain when she reached the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah and you really think Jesse and Aubrey raised criminals?” her mom argued, “Besides, I know for a  _fact_ it could’ve been worse.” 

“How do you know that?” Emily recognized the shift in tone, her mother taking on a more teasing voice. Then, their volume dropped slightly. 

“Because I’ve heard of some 18 year olds who like to partake in shower duets,” Chloe answered, and Beca let a breath out. 

“That’s only because they were corrupted by older, more sophisticated, and  _very_ naked girls, you know,” Beca responded. Emily took the final few steps to her room, smiling to herself. Judging by the path of that conversation, the incident that caused the burning in her knee would remain consequence-free. 

Which was really quite good news, because getting her phone taken away wouldn’t have helped her brand-spanking-new relationship status with a mister Steven Swason Posen. 


	6. The One Where Mom Walks In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You amazing human. Your minifics are the bomb. My day gets better whenever I get to read them. I liked the ones where Emily is their kid. Could you do one where Beca walks in on Emily making out with Aubrey's kid or maybe she catches them in the car... Whichever fits the best. Keep up the great work. Anon out! — sent by anonymous

She wasn’t a strict parent, but that was largely because she never had to be. Emily was easy enough to handle, and between her and Chloe, there was an even separation of powers that allowed for almost every situation to have a solid solution. It worked out well, and they raised a pretty damn good kid as a result, if Beca did say so herself. Or, at least, they were in the process of raising one. 

Emily never stole, never struggled with grades, easing in an out of social circles without much struggle and occasionally throwing out the typical tantrum about a certain kind of top or a piercing or a party. But overall, they had it pretty easy with her. Which was why Beca was always waiting for the other shoe to drop - because she knew her genes, and she knew what it was to have a storm of hormonal, existential anger geared at the entirety of the universe. Only, not only did that storm not even seem to be on the forecast for Emily…there didn’t seem to be an ounce of it in the atmosphere anywhere. 

So, naturally, Beca should’ve assumed that the teenage problem years would’ve found their source in Chloe’s genetics. She should’ve assumed that, yes, but it kind of slipped her mind. Which meant that hearing Emily’s voice slip through the walls at three in the morning as she talked on the phone was a strange phenomenon for Beca to experience, and having to cope with a boy throwing rocks at her window seemed entirely too much like a movie scene to be something she had to watch her daughter deal with. But, most importantly, it meant that Beca didn’t fully understand the importance of knocking when it came to sixteen year old girls and guests in their room. (Chloe would argue that it was the importance of knocking, while Aubrey would argue that it was the importance of not allowing your sixteen year old daughter to have guests in her room in the first place). 

She was putting away laundry when she realized she needed something from the store, mindlessly walking into Emily’s room to ask if she could pick up a loaf of bread next time she ran out only to find her daughter very much Not Studying with a certain Posen twin. 

When she reenacted the scene for Chloe in a hushed tone at the bottom of the stairs, she believes she used the quote: “Hey, Em, could you – Oh fuck…Oh shit…No, um, no, I’ll leave. Um. Shit. Fuck. Dinner’s at six.” 

–

“I don’t know, I think it’s nice,” Chloe said when they were getting ready for bed, braiding her hair down the middle. 

“Nice?!” Beca shot back. “Chloe, her face was being eaten off by the genetic blend of the Swansons and Posens, and you think it’s nice?!” 

“The genetic blend of Swanson and Posen is a blend we’ve come to know and love as our closest family friends,” Chloe reminded Beca, “And it’s kind of the best case scenario. Dave wouldn’t hurt a fly, and, if he’s anything like his dad, he wouldn’t even dare to  _touch_ a fly in the first place.” 

“That’s not what it looked like to me,” Beca muttered, pulling back the comforter to climb into bed. “It’s weird, Chlo.” 

“Well yeah, you’re her  _mom_. I’m thinking she’s not exactly thrilled about what happened either.” 

“I don’t get how you can be so calm about the fact that they were trying to play a game of tonsel hockey with the sole goal of mouth-to-mouth procreation,” Beca sneered. 

“Because she’s sixteen, Becs! Do you know what I was doing when I was sixteen?” 

“Dear God, no,” Beca groaned, “No no no, I do not. That would  _very_ much not help my parent panic right now.” 

“Right, sorry.” Chloe rolled to her side, facing Beca, “She’s a good kid. We both know that. And Dave’s…well…he’s Jesse’s kid. And Aubrey’s kid. And there’s no chance in hell he’s capable of doing anything bad. Let them have fun, yeah? Every girl deserves a chance at a Taylor Swift song.” 

While she was talking, she was tracing the side of Beca’s cheek with her hand. Beca’s scowl didn’t soften though. 

“You’re a fucking romantic, and I don’t like how it plays into your parenting strategies,” she grumbled, but Chloe laughed. 

“And you went through high school single and not ready to mingle, so I think we know where this sourpuss business is coming from.” 

Beca slapped Chloe’s shoulder, finally breaking into a smile. “Bitch,” she muttered, and Chloe let out a dramatic gasp. 

“My my, that’s not a way to treat a woman!” 

Beca rolled her eyes at the overly dramatized southern accent and leaned closer to her wife. “Oh yeah? How should I treat a woman, then?” 

Chloe laughed lightly, her breath running over Beca’s lips. “I can show you,” she said quietly, pressing her lips against Beca’s. After a few seconds, though, Beca jumped away. She ran a hand through her hair shakily and glanced at the door. 

“Nope, nope, nope,” she said quickly, “Too weird. It’s still….fresh in my memory. Shut it down.” 

To which Chloe responded by rolling her eyes and shutting off the bedroom lamp. 


	7. The One Where Emily has Beca's Genes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe Lovechild AU Prompt: Little Emily channels her inner Beca to unsuccessfully try to reason her way out of having her hair cut — sent by anonymous

“But I don’t wanna get my haircut, Mom.” Emily looked up at Chloe, who was bent over her trying to buckle the booster seat. Chloe grunted, shaking the buckle to try to get it to fit before letting go and trying again. 

“That damn thing never works,” Beca said from behind them. “I keep saying she’s too old for a car seat anyway.” 

“She’s five,” Chloe countered sharply, pulling her hand back when she got it stuck between the belt and the buckle. “Ow! And it’s a booster seat, which is totally different.”

“Chlo, I’m not asking you to pull an Amy and start letting her learn to drive so I can keep track of the crocodile in the back seat. I’m just saying.” Stepping up and into the car, Beca turned to face Chloe, who had finally buckled the belt. “She’s good.” 

“Whatever,” Chloe huffed, kissing Emily’s forehead absentmindedly before sliding the door closed and hopping into the passenger seat. Before Beca turned the car on, they heard a whine erupt from the backseat. 

“Mommmmm, I  _really_ don’t wanna go.” Forgetting that Emily was having an internal crisis of her arm - one apart from the car seat debacle - both moms turned around, surprised. 

“What, babe?” Beca asked, her brows furrowed. 

“I don’t wanna get my haircut!” Emily said, exasperated. She threw her arms to the armrests of her booster seat. “The lady smells like dirt.”  

“Okay, sweetie,” Chloe reached a hand out to Emily, “You gotta get your haircut.” 

“No I don’t,” Emily argued, crossing her arms. Chloe immediately shot a glance at Beca, who just shrugged, then shifted in her seat. 

“Um, Em, yeah, you do,” Beca said softly, throwing a pitying smile out. 

“Noo _oooooo_ ,” Emily said. “No no no no no. Aunt Stacie said that long hair is prettier.” 

“Aunt Stacie also said that Ariel is better than Belle, remember that?” Beca swatted at Chloe, giving her a glare. 

“You’re gonna reason with a our five year old?!” she whispered quietly, but Chloe only rolled her eyes. 

“I’m  _not_ getting my haircut,” Emily said, and with her tone, it seemed final, as her arms remain crossed and her nose squinched in determination. “And you can’t make me.” 

“Yes we can,” Beca tried. Emily rolled her eyes at that, so dramatically that they practically went back completely, before throwing out a short, curt, “Bite me.” 

Chloe gasped, jumping up on her seat and switching between looking at Beca with shocked eyes to looking at Emily with equally shocked eyes, overall horrified, while Beca just had her eyebrows raised in semi-amusement. 

“ _What_ did you just say to me?” Chloe breathed. 

“I said,” Emily started slowly, and Chloe could  _see_ the Beca inside of her lighting up. She’d never been so afraid of that dry, headstrong face until now. “Bite. Me.” 

And, had Chloe not immediately sat back in her seat, commanding Beca with a sharp, “Drive. Now,”, her wife would’ve thought she passed out right on the spot. Which, really, would’ve been preferred, because it would inevitably alter the course of the conversation they were bound to have later regarding Beca’s general attitude and the amount of an impression it can make on “a child in their developing years”. If Beca had to guess though, and this is what made Chloe most scared as she stared out the window on the way to the salon, it was only the tip of a very chilly iceberg. 


	8. The One With Flashlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you should do a mini fic where bechloe have a fight and their daughter emily helps beca write and sing flashlight to chloe to make up for the fight — sent by anonymous

There was a soft knock on the bedroom door, followed by a timid turn of the knob. Beca knew who it was, because there was a pause before the door slipped open, letting light stream through the room. “Ma?”

Beca sighed, looking up at the ceiling. She wiped at the bottom of her eyes, sniffling once before throwing her hands on the pillow lying on her lap. “Hey, Em.”

At that, Emily stepped into the room, wringing her hands. “So, um…”

“You heard us,” Beca said, nodding once. “Fuck.”

“It’s fine! It’s fine. Like, I so totally didn’t hear a lot. Just enough. Well not ee-nough, you know. You know what? I didn’t hear anything at all.”

“Chloe’s gonna kill me,” Beca threw herself down on the bed, pressing her hands to her temples. “She hates it when you hear us fight.”

“To be fair, Ma, the walls are thin,” Emily sat lightly on the bed, “Like  _wayyyy_ thin. So there’s probably more you should be worried about, at this point.”

Beca winced, and Emily shrugged nonchalantly. She still wasn’t sure how even her daughter was more comfortable with that particular topic than she was. She chalked it up to Chloe’s genes and a bout of date nights that resulted in an endless series of Aunt Stacie’s sex ed lectures.

“I appreciate her, right?” Beca said, turning to Emily where she was perched on the end of the bed. “Like, I  _show_ her I appreciate her, yeah?”

“Oh! Totally! Ma, you’re like,  _queen_ of Mom Appreciation. Or whatever. That doesn’t make much sense.”

“You know I don’t want to involve you in me and your mom’s problems,” Beca started, sitting up and poking Emily’s shoulder to get her to turn around. Sitting up on her knees, she grabbed Emily’s hair, parting it in three. “I just don’t really know what she wants, yunno? She’s been off for weeks.”

“Yeah,” Emily responded. “Work’s been hard for her with the whole STEM thing. She’s been in and out of Mr. Michaels office all week with book after book of ‘evidence’ as to why the arts are important children’s development. Or something. She talks about it every ride to school.”

“I thought that budget shit was fixed already,” Beca stopped braiding Emily’s hair briefly when Emily started stuttering.

“Well, y-y-eah, yeah it was, but,” she started flailing her hands, “I mean, there was…yeah.”

“Shit, okay,” Beca took the stuttered nonsense as enough of an answer. “That, like, makes so much more sense. Um…right. So we need to boost her spirit. Or some shit.”

“Oh funnnn.” Emily rubbed her hands together, sitting up straight when Beca asked her for a rubber band.

“Thoughts?”

Emily was silent for a moment until she turned, running her hand over her new french braid before grabbing Beca’s hand. “Okay. So. I’ve been working on something. And I could use some…musical assistance.”


	9. The One With Aca-Aunts and Aca-uncles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lovechildau annual Bella's holidays with all the 'aunts' and 'uncles' and shenannigans — sent by anonymous

“How’re my two favorite dad-gay-o’s?!” 

Aunt Amy, as always, was approximately two hours early, toting sunglasses shaped like two sun-bathing men and a box of donuts ( “A Tasmanian Christmas tradition”). Beca was there to meet her by the door - or, rather, raced there to meet her by the door with her boxer shorts still on despite the top half of her outfit being fit for hosting. Her hair was half done, and it was clear by the lack of eye-liner over her eyes that she was in the middle of getting ready. 

“Hey, Ames,” she said weakly, throwing an arm around the other woman and pulling her into a hug. “Merry Christmas. Well, pre-Christmas Christmas. Chlo’s in the kitchen.” 

She started to walk towards the kitchen, but noticed that Amy hadn’t moved from the door. When she shot a look back at the blonde, she responded with, “The last thing I want is to talk to a flustered ginger with a knack for hosting two hours before people show up. Aca-no thank you.” 

“Um, right,” Beca nodded, scratching the back of her head. “Err, then you could…”

“Aunt Amy!” Emily stormed down the steps, and Beca held her breath the entire time, because every time that impossibly tall girl stomped her way down the wooden steps, Beca swore she’d end up on her ass. The visual had been provided in all too clear recent reality for her to _not_ wince. “Ohmygoshhhhh, merry Christmas!” 

“Yes, yes, deck the halls and all that,” Amy waved her hand nonchalantly before pulling Emily into the tightest hug, picking her up and swinging her around. 

“Those are lovely glasses,” Emily said when she was finally free of Amy’s grasp. 

“Thank you,” Amy said easily, pointing towards the living room, “Proceed.” 

“Where’s Bumper Jr.?” Beca heard Emily ask as they headed for the couches. Some answer about a crocodile hunting trip and a consequential chance for Bumper to be on survivor followed the question, but Beca was headed upstairs to finish getting ready, so she brushed it off anyway, enjoying the way Chloe’s Christmas carol singing seemed to permeate through the house without anyone questioning it. 

–

“What is  _up,_ Aca-bitches!?!” 

Stacie came about thirty minutes early, storming through the house straight for the kitchen and putting two hands square on the counter. She wore a red sweater that cut a little too low, with a snowman pin. The Santa hat she wore jingled when she moved. “What do you need, chickies?” 

“I need for you to stop swearing, first of all,” Chloe huffed, turning from the oven with hands full of a roasted ham, “And then I need you to come over here and give me a hug, please and thank you.” 

Smiling, Stacie stood up, racing over to Chloe to wrap her arms around the redhead’s neck and push her into her chest as a means of “hugging”. She then did the same to a much more reluctant Beca, who was sitting on the counter already nursing a beer, squealing, “Between Chloe and Emily, you  _know_ you love it. Quit the act.”

“And, for the record, Em’s had Beca as her mom for her entire life so…Language really shouldn’t be an issue,” Stacie argued when she finally said her hellos, picking up a celery stick from the appetizer plater and eating it. “Now, for-serious,  _what_ do you want me to do?” 

When Chloe stood, she huffed and blew a strand of hair from her eyes, looking around the kitchen - which was littered in plates and pans and bowls. She pointed. “Those. Take them to the living room. Please?” 

When Stacie nodded once, quickly, moving towards the platter, Chloe shouted a quick, “Love ya!” before giving Beca instructions on the final few preparations and racing upstairs to do her makeup. 

–

Aubrey was, oddly enough, twelve minutes late, rushing through the front door without knocking and tugging with her the first of two identical teenage boys. “Steven, you want to tell Aunt Chloe why we’re all rudely walking into her holiday dinner twelve and a half minutes late?” 

Steven stuttered, looking around the room while rubbing the back of his head in a very Mr. Jesse Posen kind of way. Beca noted the way his eyes flittered over everyone in the room except for her daughter, his cheeks turning red rapidly. 

“Okay, okay, Bree, are we gonna fault him for wanting to look respectable?” Jesse put his hand on Aubrey shoulder briefly before moving to put the giant bowl of salad on the table. 

“No, but we’re going to fault him for not being ready in advance,” Aubrey said under her breath, letting go of Steven’s hand and walking over to Chloe to place a kiss on her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Chlo,” she said, tapping down a cowlick that had escaped her low bun. “Beca,” she said with a nod at the woman sitting next to Chloe, their hands intertwined. 

“Hey, Aunt Aubrey,” Emily spoke up from the far end of the table, where the foldable chairs and table was set as the makeshift “kids table”. Aubrey threw a smile walking towards Emily and squeezing her shoulders, “Merry Christmas, Em.” 

“Becaw,” Jesse said, pulling out his chair. “Tell me, has the season been particularly busy, what with trying to help Santa out in the north pole?” 

Beca threw a piece of her bread roll at him, rolling her eyes, “Hardy har-har Uncle Jess…always the one with the jokes.” 

“You know it,” Jesse said with a wink as he plucked the torn bread roll into his mouth. From the corner of the room, there was a murmur, and though Beca wasn’t entirely sure when Lilly got there, it was clear she’d been sitting for a long time. It seemed, somehow, that her plate had already gone through a few rounds of servings. CR and her wife were sitting across from Stacie, who was pouring her third glass of wine, and asking her about recent relationship prospects. Aubrey would pop in and out of the conversation occasionally, putting in her two cents about the merits of dating apps versus “joining something a bit more…culturally nurturing. Like a club of some sort”. Jessica and Ashley were busy trying to get Jesse and Aubrey’s daughter to let them do her hair, while Emily, Dave, and Steve were all engrossed in a very serious discussion regarding some science fiction show and the adhering comic book series. 

“Babe, pass the mashed potatoes,” Beca said, nudging Chloe. Chloe stood up slightly to get the bowl, nudging Beca back when she sat down. Without prompting, Beca took the mashed potatoes and thanked Chloe with a quick kiss. “Thanks for all this,” she said quietly, “Merry Christmas.” 

Chloe chuckled, tilting her head. “It’s not Christmas, yet, Becs.” 

“Oh well,” Beca shrugged. She lifted her glass to her lips. “I mean, I’ll just have to thank you every day until Christmas then.” 

“Oi, love birds, break it up or I’ll blind aca-child for her own protection,” they heard Amy protest, which made them turn away from each other and back towards their plates, sinking into the impossibly calm chaos that was the Bellas Annual  _Christ, It’s not Christmas_ holiday party. 


	10. The One Where They Eff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toddler acachild caught Bechloe doing the do then asks them what they're doing. Bechloe tries to explain. — sent by anonymous

“Fuck!” 

Chloe hummed appreciatively, smiling. “I know,” she said, but Beca pushed her away, steering her head towards the door. 

“No,” she said through her teeth, “F _u_ ck.” 

Chloe stopped, confused until she followed Beca’s stare to the doorway and saw two braids over a plaid jumper and confused face. She squeaked, jumping off Beca and covering as much as she could with their blankets. “Em, Jesus!” 

“Mom?” Emily said, her hand on the doorknob, “Mommy, what’re you–” 

“G-go!” Chloe blurted, the loudness shocking Emily and making her jump. “Go to your room sweetie,” she said, her voice only a touch softer. 

“But I-”

“Emily!” Beca finally spoke up, her eyes closed and her hands on her forehead, “Room!” 

Chloe moved over to Beca’s shoulder when they heard the door close, her heart beating impossibly fast even though she was breaking into a laugh against the tattoo that curled over Beca’s shoulder. 

Beca slapped her lightly, breathing out through her mouth. “Fucking shit,” she muttered, and Chloe laughed more, nipping lightly at the skin there. “Chlo! This isn’t funny!” 

“No I know,” Chloe said, trying to swallow her laugh. She didn’t succeed, though, choosing to try to press a soft kiss to Beca’s shoulder instead. “I know. But also, it kinda is.” 

“We just scarred our child for life,” Beca huffed, rolling away from Chloe. She stood up, slipping Chloe’s shirt on over her shoulders and massaging her neck. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Chloe hummed, grabbing Beca’s hand and playing with the fingers lightly, “We could at least finish…” 

“Chlo!” Beca’s eyes were shining with panic and fear, her fingers shaking as she pulled them away from Chloe and tried to sort her hair out. Chloe laughed at the reaction. 

“I’m only kidding!” Chloe said lightly, sitting up in bed as Beca threw on boxer shorts. She stopped on her way to the door. 

“You coming?” 

“I’m going to choose not to make that into a joke, judging by your current state,” Chloe said, not moving. Beca rolled her eyes, reaching for the door. 

“We’ve got to talk to her, Chlo,” she said. 

“You go first,” Chloe offered, “Immediate damage control, then I’ll swoop in later to clear up whatever nonsense you decide to tell her.” 

“That’s hardly fair,” Beca argued, the door already open.

“I’ll be there in five, Smalls,” Chloe finally relented, smirking. “Forgive me if I need a moment.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re terrible,” she said as she left, taking a shaky breath and walking down the hall into her daughter’s room, pausing at the door to gather her thoughts or garner her strength before heading in. 

“Mommy?” Emily was sitting at the foot of her bed, the toy keyboard sitting next to her covered in Little Mermaid stickers. Beca smiled, running her hand over the tight braids that ran down Emily’s hair. Subconsciously, she slipped one of the rubber bands out and untwisted the braids, scratching Emily’s head lightly before separating the hair at the root of her head in three strands.

“How’re you doin’, Sweets,” Beca asked when she started re-braiding. Emily wiggled into Beca’s lap, moving to play with her feet. 

“Fiiiiiine,” she said, mindlessly. Beca stopped braiding for a second, leaning her head to rest on Emily’s tiny shoulder. 

“Hey, Baby, you wanna talk about what happened?” 

She felt Chloe’s eyes on her from the doorway, but chose not to turn around. 

The little girl shrugged, wiggling Beca’s pinky toe. Beca poked her in the stomach, her other hand still tangled in a half braid. 

“Um, so, your mommy isn’t terribly good at these kinds of things, Em,” she started, moving again to continue the braid. “But I want to tell you that what you saw is, um, well, it’s what people who love each other do.” 

“Okay,” Emily said, not entirely listening. Beca finished the braid, her fingers still shaking. She poked Emily’s side again. 

“Girlie, I need you to listen to me,” she said, and Emily looked up at her, her face set with determination. Beca smiled, nuzzling her nose with the younger girl. “We’ll tell you more about it later, with Mom’s help, but I want you to be okay with what you saw. And stuff.” 

Emily nodded resolutely, her mouth tight in a straight line. 

“Okay,” Beca breathed, “’Cuz it’s all good, but it’s confusing. And I’m making zero sense, I’m sorry.” 

Emily reached over Beca to get the keyboard, her determination to listen giving way to distraction. She started pressing at the keys, playing out a nonsensical melody as Beca watched. After a few slams of the keyboard, she glanced up at her mother. “You said people should only be naked in the shower.” 

Beca breathed out, scratching her forehead. “Yeah, that’s true,” she said through clenched teeth, “That’s…yeah. Um. When you’re a grown up, you can be naked in the shower and during naptime.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Beca said, and while it wasn’t the “open and honest” discussion she was hoping to have, it was the best she could do. 

“That’s silly,” Emily said, returning her focus to the keyboard. “Grown-ups are weird.” 

“Really weird,” Beca agreed, “But, um, yeah. Okay. We’re good. We’re good, right, Em?” 

“Yeah, Mommy,” Emily said easily. “But next time you nap with Mom, you shouldn’t swear so much.” 

Chloe started laughing from where she was leaning on the doorway, and Beca bit her lip to keep from laughing too, throwing a weak glare at Chloe before throwing herself back on Emily’s bed. “Noted, Kid,” she said shakily, pulling Emily to her and lifting her up in the air as the small girl giggled and squirmed. “Did I ace it, Mom?” she asked as she threw Emily up in the sky, and Chloe walked into the room, putting a hand on the bed frame. 

“We’re calling Aunt Stacie ASAP,” she said by way of an answer, “But you’re cute when you try.” 

Beca stopped throwing Emily up in the air, pulling her close to hug tightly with a joking growl. The little girl laughed, squirming out and rolling off the bed. 

“Mom, can we go swimming today?” she said breathlessly, and Chloe put her hand on the little girl’s head. 

“Sure, sweetie,” she said easily. Emily jumped up, her hand in a celebratory fist. 

“Fuck yeah!” the little girl said, and Chloe gasped, her hand instinctively closing on Emily’s small wrist. “What, Mom? Mommy said it and you didn’t yell at her….” 


	11. The One With a Missed Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you do one where emily is old enough (16) to go out and so she goes to a party forgetting that she was going to have a movie night with her moms and she feels really bad and trys to make up for it — sent by anonymous

“Em, it’s no big deal,” Beca said, shutting off the television and nudging Chloe awake from where she’d fallen asleep on her shoulder. “No big deal at all.” 

“You sure?” Emily whispered. She was eying her mom for any signs of falsity, but Beca held out her hand. 

“Swear to God,” she promised, “No biggie. We hardly stayed up to watch anything anyway.” 

She didn’t say:  _We waited on the couch for an hour and a half._

She didn’t say:  _We picked out a movie already online and paid for it early, so we had to watch it without you, even though we didn’t want to._

She didn’t say:  _Chlo didn’t make popcorn because she insisted that we could eat it until you come home._

Because Emily had a problem as it was with guilt and her moms, and because Beca knew somewhere in her head that a sixteen year old was entitled to a night away from her moms. Besides, she wasn’t yet fully ready to admit how much they’d become the parents that lived and breathed for their child. It was the one promise that she let herself break as a mom, and the longer she  _could_  pretend like she still had a life outside of Emily, the longer she  _would_ pretend. 

Emily knew, though, from hours in the car with Chloe on the way to work and school, that when Beca lied, she had a tendency to look at the ceiling or close her eyes for a long blink. So when Beca repeated herself, Emily swallowed her apology for the moment, already making plans to build a Saturday breakfast that would wipe her guilt free. 

Stupid Steve Posen. She knew they wouldn’t forget about movie night. 

“What’s all this?” Chloe asked when she woke up to the maple-syrup-cinnamon smell of her famous fluffy pancakes. She walked to the edge of the counter, taking a finger-full of the batter before Emily could swat her away. “Should I be worried that you broke the law last night or something?” 

Emily laughed, nervously taking the bacon out of the oven as Beca padded out of the bedroom and put her chin on Chloe’s shoulder. “Em,” she said, “Not that I don’t willingly accept a four-course breakfast, but, uh, what’s the occasion, Kid?”

“There is none,” Emily said quickly, plopping the one flower she’d picked from the backyard into a thin vase between plates. “Bon appetit.” 

“Our kid is bilingual,” Beca said jokingly, sitting down easily. She took a strawberry from Chloe’s plate and popped it in her mouth. 

“Mmmm, so talented,” Chloe hummed. Emily turned around before she could roll her eyes, beginning to wash the dishes. It was a good way to start the weekend, she thought, bright and early and guilt-free. 

That was until she saw the movie queued up on the living room screen that night, paused because Chloe inevitably fell asleep halfway through (though that was really usually more of Beca’s role, she couldn’t ever fall asleep when she knew Emily was out). 

So when Beca walked into Emily’s room to see that it was completely clean and the pile of laundry Chloe had a tendency to force Emily to put away was absent from the edge of her bed, she began to wonder how thickly she screwed up with the whole “guilt” thing during the process of raising her daughter. 

“Em?” she said, knocking lightly on the door. Emily was in the bathroom, scrubbing at some indistinguishable stain on the countertop, and Beca had to physically put her hands on Emily’s wrists to get her to break focus. 

“Sorry,” Emily said. “Spring cleaning.” 

“It’s October,” Beca said, letting go of Emily’s wrists.

“Right, well, it’s never too early. Just thought, yunno, since you guys keep such a great house for me, I would treat it with the respect it deserves.” 

“What the fuck,” Beca muttered. She pressed a hand to Emily’s forehead, looking up for a moment. “Nope, no fever. So that leaves alien invasion or alterior motives.” 

“What?” 

“I’m trying to find a way to explain why you’re acting like even more of an angel child than usual,” Beca explained, hopping onto the counter where Emily was scrubbing only minutes before. “Because I know I’m a damn good mom but Saturday breakfast and a total room clean is pushing it, even for goodie YOU shoes.” 

Emily blushed, pushing her hair behind her ear. 

“I’m not complaining,” Beca corrected herself quickly, “Because my wife is positively  _beaming_ thanks to you. But still…what’s up buttercup?” 

Smirking, Emily rolled her eyes playfully. She grew up with Chloe’s sayings dotting the soundtrack of her life - chirped so easily that it seemed natural and second nature enough for her to catch the habit and pass it on through playgrounds and classrooms. It still surprised her, though, when her mother used the same sayings - softening her edges enough to take every ounce of sarcasm and mocking out of the ridiculously sugar sweet word choices. 

“I just…” Emily started, picking still at the toothpaste glued to the counter. “I wanted to show you I appreciate you.” 

“Mmhmmm,” Beca said. She gestured for Emily to keep going. 

“And I felt bad,” she said, “About Friday night. And missing it. And stuff.” 

“Emily,” Beca tutted, tilting her head, “You’re more ridiculous than your mom sometimes, d’you know that?” 

Emily smiled, shaking her head. “Stop,” she started, but Beca was already using the height leverage that the counter gave her to through Emily into a headlock. 

“Stop being such a loser and loving your moms so much,” she said after a good noogie, “Because I raised an angel, but she’s a badass angel, okay?” 

“Okay,” Emily said between gritted teeth under the weight of Beca’s forearm. Beca let go then, allowing Emily to gasp for breath before laughing. Chloe was at the door at the sound of them, knocking nervously and peeking in with confusion. 

“I blame her obsessive guilt on you, Red,” Beca said for an explanation, hopping off the counter. Chloe took the explanation easily, shrugging with a grin on her face.  

“There’s worse things that I could’ve passed on,” Chloe chirped, looking around the room. “Did you clean, Em?” 

“Nah,” Beca said offhandedly, looking back at Emily with a smirk, “It was all me.” 

“Nope,” Emily chimed in, index finger up in protest from where Beca linked arms with Chloe, “This took me three hours. I’m not  _that_ overly guilty, Mom.”


	12. The One With Badass Emily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty pretty please could you write this bechloe lovechild prompt: Beca and Chloe come home early, only to find Emily skipping school and smoking/drinking with some friends at home — sent by anonymous

Emily’s reaction from the moment she heard the front door open was in slow-motion. The processing part of her mind - normally operating on high alert - stilled to a stop when she heard the giggles of her moms travel up the staircase, hushed and rushed and whispered, so that when they passed by her door, she didn’t even think to hide the cigarette that was posed precariously between her two fingers. 

They were wrapped up in each other, grinning in a way that normally promised that they wouldn’t notice anything beyond each other for a long while, but there was a movement in their periphery that broke Chloe’s gaze on Beca’s lips long enough to warrant a double-take into the wide-open door of Emily’s room (and, yeah, admittedly not closing the door was dumb. But they were  _supposed_ to be at work). 

“Em?” Beca said, surprise coating her tone before she had a chance to process the entire situation. “Holy–”

“Shit,” Emily finished unintentionally, looking down at her hands and the two boys perched on her bed. She scrambled then, all of her slow-moving processing suddenly rushing back to full-speed quick enough to make her dizzy. 

“Language, Emily Beale-Mitchell!” Chloe gasped, stepping into the room. Beca slapped her lightly on the shoulder, glaring. 

“Our daughter is skipping school with a cigarette and two boys in her room and you’re going to yell at her for her  _language_???” she hissed, only to get an eye roll from Chloe. 

“Well, I’m sorry if I don’t even know where to begin,” she argued. Steve coughed, then, which was enough to turn Emily’s mom’s attention back on the issue at hand. Like lightning, she rushed into the room and snatched the cigarette out of Emily’s hand. Emily felt it - the fire that burned from her mom when she was just angry enough to explode. Beca was by her side, already wincing for what was to come. 

“Smoking, Emily? Are you IDIOTIC?” she started, her voice reaching a screeching point before Beca put a hand on her shoulder to hold her back. 

“Hey, tweedledee and tweedledum, beat it or I’m telling your mom,” Beca said quickly. 

“Oh, Aubrey’s hearing about this first thing,” Chloe added, turning her attention to the boys, who looked scared out of their minds. “And if you think for one second she won’t consider military school, then you don’t know your mother.” 

“Mo–” 

“Em,” Beca interrupted, “I’d be quiet right about now, if I were you.” 

“We’re really sorry Aunt Chloe,” Dave muttered, scooting off the bed. “You too, Aunt Becs.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, his voice considerably more shaky, “W-we totally get it if you need to tell our parents just, um, just…we’re just really s-sorry.” 

“I know,” Beca said, sighing. She was pinched her nose, refusing to look at the boys. “Just get out before I forbid boys in Em’s room until she’s fifty, okay?” 

At that, the twins scurried out of the room, their footsteps breaking over the steps like a pack of elephants. Chloe was pretty sure one of them tripped in their race to leave the house, but she was having a hard time finding pity for her godsons in that moment. As soon as the door closed, she squeezed the cigarette tightly enough for it to bend, shoving it in Emily’s face. 

“Did we not provide you with everything you need, Emily Beale-Mitchell,” she said, her voice cracking. “Did we not send you to the best school in the city? Did we not tell you how much we love you?” 

“Mom, come on, I–” 

“Because I’m trying to figure out why, for the life of me, you’ve decided to throw away your life with a plant wrapped in a piece of paper.” 

Beca stepped forward, taking the crushed cigarette from Chloe and throwing it in the trash can. She was biting her lip throughout the entire ordeal, watching the way Chloe maintained the terrifying Mom Stare for so long that it was probably dangerous. 

“I had  _nodes,_ Em,” she continued, and Beca swore she detected a hint of tears in her voice, “ _Nodes._ I could’ve lost the ability to sing. And it  _killed_ me. Killed us,” she said, turning back to look at Beca, who just nodded, “And you’re going to willingly rid yourself of your voice? You’ve got to be kidding me….Beca, a little help here?” 

Beca jumped at the sound of her name, squeaking slightly with her mouth open before setting her jaw and stepping forward. “That was dumb, Em,” she said, “Really fucking dumb.” 

“Helpful,” Chloe quipped, and Beca shrugged before looking back at her daughter. 

“I dunno what to say, kid,” she said, “I’m just…disappointed.” 

She said the last word quietly, looking at the ground and grimacing slightly when she heard how cliche it sounded. When she looked back up at Emily, she noticed that the girl was crying - not quiet tears, or angry tears, but genuine tears of fear and apology. When she pulled her hair back, she let out a sob. 

“I’m sorry, okay,” she said, throwing her hands up, “We didn’t even  _do_ anything. We weren’t going to, anyway. Or at least I wasn’t. Bumper Jr. bought them with his dad, and we were just curious what it would be like and so when we had club picture day, we thought it would be a good day to skip and—” 

“Emily Beale-Mitchell, I have no more words,” Chloe said, backing up. “No more words.” 

“Chlo,” Beca chided, putting a hand on Chloe’s shoulder and shushing her. The touch was enough to calm Emily’s mom, and together they looked at each other and breathed for a few moments. “Chlo, it’s okay. Let’s just…” 

Beca turned to Emily, scratching her lip. “I need you to tell me that was dumb,” she said with her finger stretched out. Emily nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. 

“It was,” she said, calming her sobs, “It totally and completely was. Because I love to sing, and because like you always say we’ve got good genes and I don’t want to look gross and I like my teeth I brush them everyday and I’m just really sorry because I know what it does and I wasn’t really going to do it but I don’t know and I’m so sorry it was so dumb and I’m never even going to watch a commercial for those things again and I’m so stupid and…” 

“Whoa, okay,” Beca said, sitting down on the bed. “Okay, you’re not stupid. What you were going to do… _that_ was stupid. But you’re not. You’re smart. Which is why I know this isn’t going to happen again, right?” 

Emily nodded, biting her lip. 

“It’s also why I know for a fact that you won’t be surprised when I tell you that you’re grounded from now until when hell freezes over,” she continued, wiping the tear from Emily’s cheek. Emily nodded still, looking down. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly, moving forward when Beca reached out to hug her. Chloe, then, tapped her on the shoulder, breaking up the hug. 

“I’m furious,” she said, though her voice was calmer, “But I want a hug too, please.” 

Emily, despite her tears, laughed a little, pulling Chloe in and feeling Beca’s arms around her too. “I’m so sorry guys,” she said, feeling Beca stiffen suddenly and pull away. 

“Is that  _beer?!”_ she said in a mix of a gasp and a shout that made both the other girls in the room wince. Her eyes were focused on an empty bottle perched on Emily’s dresser. Worriedly, Emily turned to the vanity despite herself. 

“No!” she said quickly, standing up on her knees in the bed to put her hands on her mother’s shoulders, “No! Ma, that’s rootbeer. That’s rootbeer, I swear.” 

Chloe, who had already walked to that side of the room, sniffed the bottle cautiously, throwing a thumbs up at Beca, who visibly relaxed after that. “You’re gonna be the death of me, kid,” she said, taking a deep breath. Finally, she hopped off the bed, turning to Chloe to walk out of the room. 

“Moms?” they heard as they were in the doorway. 

“Yeah, sweetie?” Chloe said, her voice impossibly softer than it was before. Emily bit her lip, considering her question before finally, “Why aren’t you guys at work, anyway?” 

Beca blushed, looking hurriedly at Chloe before eagerly glancing at the safety of the door, wishing she’d made it out of the room before the question was asked. 

“Because,” Chloe said simply, “Your mother and I are adults who can take scheduled time off to participate in consensual afternoon intercourse, Em.” 

Beca groaned, turning around and Emily grimaced. “That’s disgusting, Chlo,” Beca muttered, but Chloe hummed, satisfied. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not as disgusting as  _asking_ for lung cancer,” she said, turning on her heel and grabbing Beca’s hand on the way out, “So I’m sure Emily can handle it.” 


	13. The One With Adele

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt idea: beca sings make you feel my love by Adele to Emily. Like every time she cried or couldn't sleep beca would sing it. — sent by anonymous

Beca never handled emotions well. There was always a kind of distance that occurred whenever someone cried - like she was suddenly incapable of comprehending what was going through their head - and that tended to add an air of discomfort to the arm that she put around the other person’s shoulder. She was separate from them in that moment, put on a staggered scale and made to try to reach out without success. 

It was only when two specific people cried did she feel that real sense of empathy - the kind that tears at your heart and pulls you closer to them because you know that just the presence of your touch is the most you can give. 

She learned this with Chloe, because she wasn’t one to hide her tears from anyone. She chalked the comfort up to the fact that she was in love with someone who wore their heart on their sleeve, and cuddled into her when she started getting emotional about starving cat commercials. She worked on instinct with the redhead,  _needing_ to be close more than wanting to be, because if she could do anything at all to stop the tears then she would. She’d scale buildings to make Chloe feel better, because if she was crying, then Beca was too, in some capacity. 

It made sense, then, when Emily came along, that Beca sacrificed no small piece of her heart to permanently erasing the little girl’s frowns. 

So she started singing early on, because one of the only things that calmed Emily’s baby cries was the sound of her voice (after two months of nightly singing, Beca lost her voice, and the household was filled with Emily’s wails for four nights in a row). 

And it seemed to help, more than anything else, to lift the weight off of both the girls’ shoulders. So she kept it up, using that as a means of guiding Emily to sleep and pushing her awake when her tiny arms became incapable of carrying everything. 

After her first day of Kindergarten, Emily came home with her jean overalls heavy in rain and her pigtails already curling around her face. Beca took the afternoon off to pick her up from the bus stop, eying the mud that was splattered over her daughter’s clothes. 

When she asked how her first day was, Emily didn’t answer, and Beca recognized the hardness to her face as the one that she met in the mirror most mornings. It was a face she preferred not to see repeated, so she changed Emily out of the wet clothes and into pajamas, putting a breakfast-for-dinner meal on the stove and giving the little girl hot chocolate. As she braided her hair, she sang, the words too familiar on her lips. 

 _“When the rain is blowing in your face,  
_ _And the whole world is on your case,  
_ _I could offer you a warm embrace  
_ _To make you feel my love.”_  
  
In second grade, Emily started screaming at four in the morning every morning for an entire week. Worried, Chloe brought her into a doctor, who proclaimed the condition to be night terrors caused by “stress”. “She’ll grow out of them,” he said, so the moms started watching the bags grow under her eyes, listening to endless stories about melting faces and castles that never ended. 

Beca sat on the edge of Emily’s bed after the eighth night, running her thumb through the seams on the bedsheets. She’d fought with Chloe, because “she’ll grow out of them” wasn’t acceptable, and didn’t she realize that their daughter needed some sort of help? So, there were tears in her eyes when she watched her daughter twitch in her sleep, and she reached out to pull a hair out of her perfect face. 

When the tossing became frequent, Beca held her breath, watching Emily’s face contort in confusion and concern before she finally opened her eyes, sitting up straight. Before she had the chance to scream, Beca was there, holding her and running her hand over the small girl’s back. Emily clutched her shirt tightly, and Beca started to sing, softly so that the world wouldn’t wake up around them before Emily could fall asleep again. 

 _“When the evening shadows and the stars appear,_  
And there is no one there to dry your tears,  
I could hold you for a million years  
To make you feel my love.”

When Emily talked back for the first time, she was twelve years old. There was a disorganized sock drawer involved, and a desire to play baseball was discussed. Or, rather, “discussed”. She screamed at her mother, a sound that Beca had never heard from Emily’s mouth, and there was mention of hate. 

It took Beca three hours, sitting on the floor of her bathroom, to overcome the feeling that she’d failed somewhere along the line. Chloe came in and out between rooms, running a hand over Beca’s knee to explain that Emily didn’t mean it, but Beca saw herself, so many years ago, saying the exact same thing, and she wasn’t sure when the tables had turned. She decided, though, that if the tables had turned, she had the power to turn them back. 

So she slipped into Emily’s room before dinner, standing cautiously in the doorway before Emily ran up to her, hugging her around her waist - already almost as tall as her. Beca patted her head, running her hands thoughtfully through her hair before accepting Emily’s copious apologies by opening her mouth and beginning to sing. The words were there, easy and simple and saying all that she needed to say. 

 _“I know you haven’t made your mind up yet,_  
But I will never do you wrong.  
I’ve known it from the moment that we met,  
No doubt in my mind where you belong.”

Halfway through her freshman year in high school, Chloe started noticing Emily throw out half her lunch at school, so she sat by Beca’s side in the bed at night and explained the situation, looking for a chance to brainstorm. Beca began by packing lunches that were pristine - Posen-quality, the kids started to declare. They were culinary masterpieces, complete with homemade cookies, and Beca spent hours on parenting websites to find just the right recipes. 

When that didn’t work, and they got a call about homework being not up to par, they waited for Emily in the living room after dinner, and took separate seats next to their daughter. Chloe explained that she was the world to them. Beca said that she could do no wrong. They both tried their best to communicate that no matter what, if she was there - if she was trying - then she was enough. Always enough. More than, even. 

And Emily explained that she felt so tired, stretched too thin and needing some sort of respite. She said that she couldn’t keep up with the person everyone wanted her to be, and that this adult world was going to be too much for her. It was all said through tears, and Beca shifted so that her head was in her lap, her feet spread over Chloe’s. Then, she started braiding Emily’s hair like so many times before, with Chloe’s head resting on her shoulder. And she sang, because it was right, and it was good, and it fit with  the way the evening thunder tore through the house. 

 _“I’d go hungry; I’d go black and blue,_  
And I’d go crawling down the avenue.  
No, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do  
To make you feel my love.”

When she left for college, traversing through the halls of Beca’s freshman dorm, Chloe sobbed and Beca tried her best to crack jokes that no one thought were funny. They moved her in too quickly, needing to move instead of dwelling too long on the fact that they were going to be leaving her. 

Then, before they had time to breathe, it was time to leave, and Emily started thinking about all the things she never got to do. Like the night of camping in one of her mother’s blanket forts, or the recipe that went unmade in her mom’s classic cook book. She realized that she didn’t know how to do the laundry, and wasn’t capable of getting through the day without one of her mom’s hugs before dinner. But Chloe told her that change was good, and Beca told her to call anytime - and she meant  _any time -_ and they both looked up the time and dates for Bella auditions to get excited about anyway. After they say their final goodbyes, Emily ran down the hall, catching Beca up in a hug that lifted her off the floor, and Chloe laughed, and when they settled, Beca sang, because Emily was crying, and because she needed to hear what Beca had to say.   
  
 _“The storms are raging on the rolling sea_  
And on the highway of regret.  
The winds of change are blowing wild and free,  
You ain’t seen nothing like me yet.” 


	14. The One Where Emily Has a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do a prompt where Emily brings a guy over for a movie date and beca gets all protective with checking him, patting him down, asking questions, and Chloe struggles to take her upstairs. BTW YOUR MINIFICS are GOLLD — sent by bechloe-af

Beca had been preparing Chloe for Saturday night since Emily first came to them with the news, all stuttered and flailing hands to ask if it was okay if she had Steve come over for a movie. Of course, Emily was practically born into the same sandbox as the Posen twins, so it wasn’t a huge shock that she had Saturday night plans with them, but when she made it clear - “No, like  _come over_ come over” - Chloe squealed and Beca went bug-eyed, and the rest of the week was spent calmly reminding the redhead to  _play it cool._

If Beca had known, however, that Chloe was playing it so cool that she took Emily to the store for an entire outfit - pink polka-dot bra included - and then followed up on the dos and don’ts of first dates, she probably would’ve cooled it with the prep work. She had just assumed, though, that Chloe, permanently brought to tears over how fast their “baby was growing up”, would be some horrific mix between that overbearing mom who couldn’t stop taking photo and that protective dad who sat in front of the basement door waiting for any sign of distress. 

None of them exactly thought that the person playing that latter role would be the “chill” mom - the one who swore during carpool and could rap better than whoever was on the radio - until the night of the date. 

“Can you, like, chill with the leg shaking, Em?” Beca snapped halfway through dinner, “You’re turning this house into an earthquake zone.” 

“Becs,” Chloe chided. When she put her fork down, it clanged against the plate, but the sound was drowned out by the mix that was playing through the kitchen. “She’s nervous.” 

“So am I, but I’m not making the dinner table have seizures,” Beca said. When she first mentioned it, Emily stopped immediately, squeaking something akin to an apology. Chloe, however, glared at her wife from across the table, her look so strong that Beca rolled her eyes and put her hands on the table. 

“Sorry, Em,” she said with a sigh. “Sorry. There’s, like, nothing to be worried about.” 

“Right,” Emily said, nodding to herself. “Yeah, no, I know. I just…like…I really like him, Ma.” 

Beca’s lips went white, and it would’ve been adorable - the way she looked like she’d seen a ghost - if Chloe didn’t recognize it as a tell-tale sign she’d have to be reigning her wife in over the course of the night. Another glare was shot as a means of toning Beca’s instinct down, and with a squeak and tight lips, Beca smiled. 

“That’s great, kiddo,” she said. Her focus went back to her plate, and she stared at the salad in front of her as if she could lift the lettuce with her eyes. 

After five minutes of silence, permeated only with a few statements by Chloe along the lines of “This mix is really good, Babe” and “Em, your mother might not eat her veggies, but you probably should”, the doorbell rang, making both Beca and Emily jump. 

“He’s early,” Emily said quickly, looking at Chloe with worried eyes. The redhead smiled calmly, putting a hand on Emily’s to try to send vibes of placation. 

“That just means he couldn’t wait to see you,” she said, her voice edging on excitement. It was enough, apparently, because Emily almost squealed, her smile spreading so wide Chloe was reminded of the day they bought her a piano, blindfolding her and surprising her with the rusty old thing in the middle of the night. But, okay, no, she had to wipe that out of her mind, because Emily could barely reach the keys when they bought that for her, and now she was going on her first date, and ohmygod, how fast she grew up….But no. Okay. She was okay with this. Better than okay, really, because she was proud. Emily was confident and sure of herself, a beautiful girl who really deserved everyone around her to  _notice_ that beauty. Besides, there was no person on this earth sweeter than Steve Posen, aside from, maybe, his father, who, if his classic “Uncle Jesse” talks with Emily were any indication, taught his boys how to treat a lady nicely. 

“Okay,” Emily breathed out, more to herself than to her parents. Her palms were spread out on the table in front of her, as if she was trying to maintain balance. The doorbell rang again - the hesitance in it was almost detectable, somehow. “Ah, this is gonna be aca-awesome!” 

The fist-bump she gave made Chloe chuckle, clapping lightly when Emily stood up and scooted her chair back. She started to head towards the front door, pausing to turn around quickly. “Do I have to, like, finish my vegetables or…”

Chloe laughed, standing up herself and taking both her plate and her daughter’s. “You’re good, hun. Go go go, don’t keep your man waiting.” 

At that, Beca grumbled, stabbing her fork into the ceramic plate. Luckily, Emily didn’t hear it over all of her excitement, but Chloe spun around, glaring. “You  _will_ behave,” she said curtly, which made Beca blow all the air out of her lungs, puffing out her cheeks and stealing herself away enough to gain some sense of composure. She threw the fakest smile Chloe’s way, which only made Chloe purse her lips in annoyance. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dearie,” she said in a fake Suburban voice. Chloe rolled her eyes, throwing the dishes in the sink and wiping her hands off on her jeans. She reached up to Beca, giving her a peck of a kiss. 

“Don’t be a dad, babe,” she said, slapping Beca’s cheek lightly before practically skipping off into the living room. Beca grumbled incoherently, her plate reverberating off of the sink when she threw it in. From the doorway, she could hear Chloe greeting Steve, pulling him into a hug and asking him how his parents were. She’d seen them yesterday for a “grown-ups” dinner (a tradition that had lasted since Emily was born), but if anyone was a pro at small talk, it was Chloe Beale-Mitchell. 

“Steve,” Beca said when she walked into the living room. There were a few times in their long life together that Chloe recognized a hawk-like look in Beca’s eyes - squinting and evaluating every possible threat and how to treat them. Just now, strolling into the room stiffly with arms crossed and eyebrows raised, was one of them. The air shifted, and Steve, who’d already inherited his father’s awkward (but endearing) nervousness, smiled carefully, wiping his hands on his jeans before reaching out to shake Beca’s hand. 

“Aunt Beca,” he said, and Beca took his hand and gave it one firm handshake. From there, he reached up, swiping his blonde hair away from his face. 

“Please, call me Mrs. Beale-Mitchell,” Beca said, but Chloe practically elbowed her in the stomach, so she immediately followed with a curt, “Kidding. Kidding. Yeesh.” 

Steve laughed awkwardly, still standing in the doorway. 

“Are those….” Emily gestured to the flowers in his hands, and he looked down as if just realizing that he was holding a bouquet of purple and yellow flowers. 

“Oh, yeah,” he said quickly, “Sorry. Um. My mom said they’re your favorite, Aunt Chloe, so…” 

He held them out awkwardly, and Chloe took them quickly, her smile wide. “I don’t know when you became such a gentleman, Stevie, but the bonus points you’re gaining are going straight to your Christmas gift.” 

“That’s the dream,” Steve responded, cracking a smile and easing a bit more into the atmosphere. The three women were standing there, inspecting him in various ways, until Chloe started, stepping back. 

“Come in, come in,” she said, ushering him in. He ran into Beca, though, who refused to step out of the doorway despite the other girls’ movements. 

“Just, pause,” she said. The hawk-eye intensified, and Emily looked hurriedly at Chloe, who just bit her lip. “What movie are you watching, Steve?” 

“Uh,” Steve looked at Emily, then at Chloe, looking for some sort of advice. “Um.  _Dirty Dancing.”_

 _“_ Oh em gee, that’s, like, my favorite,” Chloe said, almost jumping up and down. She hoped that her enthusiasm would crack Beca’s singlemindedness, but it appeared futile. 

“I don’t see a DVD,” Beca said, arms still crossed. 

“Oh, right, well, that’s because I’ve got it downloaded. So. We were gonna use a computer? And stuff…?” 

Beca nodded, clicking her tongue. Without any prelude, she stepped forward,  stabbing his chest with her index finger. “You try anything funny at all whatsoever, and I swear to God, those horror stories you’ve heard from your parents about college-me? They’ll come back again. And I think your mom’s told you how good of a right-hook I have.” 

“Oooookay,” Chloe said quickly, stepping between them. She pressed her hands against Beca’s shoulders, forcing her to step back, but Beca’s glare remained on Steve. “Come on, Babe, that’s enough.” 

Turning around when Beca was a safe distance from the boy, she smiled sweetly. “She’s kidding,” Chloe said, “You know Aunt Beca. Always the jokester.” 

Steve laughed awkwardly, but no one had seen him that pale-white and scared out of his mind as right in that moment. 

“Why don’t you kids run downstairs and pop in that movie,” she said, almost  _hearing_ the growl start in Beca’s throat. “I’ll be down in a few minutes with popcorn?” 

“Yes!” Emily jumped forward, finally unfrozen with embarrassment for her mother’s actions. “Great idea, Mom,” she said. She took Steve’s hand, pulling him carefully away from Beca and towards the basement. 

“Great right-hook,” Beca shouted before the door slammed closed, standing on her tiptoes and fighting Chloe’s grip to get the message across. She wasn’t sure exactly when her hands rolled themselves into fists, but when Chloe pressed her shoulders down, she ran her hands lightly over Beca’s arms and down to her hands where she loosened the fists. 

“Okay, DeNiro,” Chloe said with a breath, “Let’s cool it, maybe?” 

Beca breathed carefully, through her nose and out with her mouth like she’d been taught. She stared at the ceiling until finally running her hands through her hair. 

“Sorry,” Beca said weakly. Chloe was running her hand over Beca’s back supportively. “I kinda blacked out a little.” 

Chloe chuckled, leading Beca back to the kitchen. “I got it,” she said, “Kinda don’t feel like she’s old enough for this.” 

“Yeah,” Beca breathed when she slumped into the barstool at the kitchen counter. “Shit.” 

Reaching into the fridge, Chloe pulled out a piece of chocolate cake and handed it to Beca, leaning over the counter to steal a bite of it first. “At least he’s a Posen,” she said. “You know he’s got manners.” 

Beca sighed, staring at the cake warily. “When did you get this?” 

“Two days after Emily told us she had a date,” Chloe said, “I kinda figured I needed to give you some kind of distraction/treat mechanism for keeping you from walking into the basement every five minutes.” 

“Oh my god,” Beca groaned, resting her head in her hands. “I’m the dad….” 

Chloe nodded. “You’re the dad, Babe,” she said, “You’re totally the dad.” 

Then, she prodded Beca’s head up, pulling her by the chin so that across the counter they kissed. 

“You’re a hot dad, though,” she said with a chuckle. Beca responded only with an eye roll, complaining when Chloe broke away to make the popcorn. 

“Calm down,” Chloe chided, placing the bag in the microwave, “If I make this, you get to take it downstairs.” 

“Oh,” Beca said, realizing Chloe’s plan. She stood up, wrapping her arms around Chloe from behind. “I’m married to an evil genius.” 

“A  _hot_ evil genius, though,” Chloe corrected, and Beca laughed. It was tense, but it was there, sweet and easier than it had been all day. 

“She’ll be good,” Chloe finally said, patting Beca on the shoulder and leaning into her embrace. 

“Yeah. Yeah, she will.” 

 

\--

 

“Okay, this has  _got_ to be a joke.” 

Beca had been downstairs a total of five times, and they hadn’t even passed the point of buffering on the movie that Steve queued up. Of course, each time was accompanied by some excuse. 

What was a movie without popcorn? And leftover Chinese food? And she was about to order pizza, did they want pizza? The thermostat was downstairs, and did they think it was getting to be cold down there? What was the name of Emily’s first doctor - she’s filling out insurance forms….

By the sixth time, Beca hadn’t even been able to drop the mugs of hot cocoa before Emily was sitting straight up on the couch, her voice rising to dangerous pitches. Chloe’s ears perked to the sound - she learned to recognize a long time ago the sound of Emily enraged, because it happened so rarely and because, if she was being honest, the squeaky rise to her voice was adorable in the same way that Beca’s anger tended to bring a smile to her face. 

“Beca,” she shouted from upstairs, “The commercial’s over…” 

It was very clearly a futile attempt, but Chloe wanted to clear her conscience for whatever charge of manslaughter was about to take place. 

“Em, I’m just…What the fuck? There’s no movie on that screen.” 

“It’s not done buffering, Ma,” Emily shot back, gesturing towards the computer. Steve coughed uncomfortably, and Beca threw a glare a him before walking closer to the two of them. 

“Why do you look suspicious?” she asked, her finger almost being pointed without her permission. She  _hated_ how shrill her voice was, and the way her eyes squinted when she looked at Emily, but there was a tension between the two teenagers that brought something uncomfortably familiar up behind Beca’s eyes. 

She’d watched movies with boys before. 

In basements. 

On dates. 

While she might have been Emily’s age - or younger - she was  _mature._ She always had been. Exposed to the cynicism that comes with a broken home and too much sad poetry. 

Emily was  _bright_. She was chipper and cheery and completely unaware of the troubles that lie ahead if she made just the  _smallest_ mistake. She had Chloe’s tendency to believe the best in people, and Beca’s tendency to be reckless without necessarily thinking, and it didn’t take a geneticist to know how well those two traits would mesh. 

So she pushed aside any hint of self-consciousness, because this was her  _daughter_. And a _Posen boy_. Sure, he was Aubrey’s kid, but he was also  _Jesse’s_ kid. Which meant, unfortunately, that Beca knew just what a “movie buffering” meant. 

(It did not currently pass through her mind that most of the time in their relationship, a “movie buffering” meant that Jesse had enough time to quiz Beca on any and all trivia facts regarding the film in question. All she could remember was the two times it  _didn’t_ mean that. All she could hear when she blinked was the squeak of surprise that passed through her when Jesse was feeling particularly spontaneous.) 

“Oh my  _God_ , Ma,  _nothing_ is happening,” Emily said between gritted teeth. Her hands were balled into fists, and Steve chose that moment to remove his arm from her shoulder. Wise boy, Beca thought. “Especially because you keep barging in every five seconds.” 

“I’ve been….” Beca swallowed her words, trying to quell her yells into harsh whispers. “I’ve been trying to show you that this is cool with me.” 

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Emily answered with a nod of her head and a purse of her lips. The sass was distinctly Chloe, and it was maddening. 

“You better watch what the fuck you say to me, Em,” Beca said, taking another step towards the younger girl. Steve coughed again, breaking the glare-war that was passing between mother and daughter and experiencing the wrath of both women’s stares. 

“I’m just….gonna…go now,” he said, closing his computer and standing. He examined Beca quickly, his slight bounce up and down a clear trait of Jesse’s. “It was nice seeing you, Aunt Beca,” he finished awkwardly. He then jumped the couch, letting his walk turn into a panicked run up the steps. 

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” Chloe said at the top of the staircase. Steve’s face was white, eyes bugged out, and Chloe recognized the look as the same one he used to have when he peed in the pool and had to tell his mother. She put a hand on his shoulder, wincing when he flinched at the contact. “She’s not…You know your Aunt Beca….she gets protective.” 

“Yeah, no, I know,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I just….make sure she knows we were just watching a movie?” 

“Oh, she knows,” Chloe said confidently. “My wife likes to make a scene when things make her nervous.” 

Steve’s discomfort grew. He shrugged out of her grasp, dodging Chloe’s reach to make his way to the screen door. “See ya, Aunt Chlo!” 

With that, the house fell eerily silent. Chloe closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the wall and taking a deep breath for the storm she  _knew_ was about to break. 

Sure enough, after a few moments of silence, she could just barely make out the sound of Emily’s sneer. “I’m going to my room.”

“That’s right!” Beca shouted as Emily started storming up the steps. “You go to the room! And stay there!” 

Emily passed by Chloe before she even had a chance to stop her, the wind from her pace pulling the redhead’s hair back. “Em, I…”

“Save it, Mom, I’m not mad at you,” she grunted. Her stomped up the other flight of stairs echoed through the entire house, ironically mirroring up with Beca’s stomping up the basement steps. 

“I told you to be normal,” Chloe said, “I gave you chances to check in on them without being a burden.” 

“You didn’t see them, Chlo!” Beca shouted, throwing her hands up. “They were practically on top of each other! I’m too  _young_ to be a grandmother.” 

“Beca, that’s ridi–”

“I don’t know how you’re so calm about this,” Beca said, passing Chloe and throwing herself onto the couch face first. After a breath, she lifted her head to see Chloe, tears forming in her eyes. “She had a  _date_. With a  _guy_. A  _date_ , Chlo.” 

“They can’t all be lady-lovers, Becs,” Chloe joked, tapping Beca on the back. She was angry at her wife - furious, even. A girl’s first date was a memorable experience. It was only to be ruined by sweat, uncomfortable kisses, and constantly questioning whether hands would be held. It was  _not_ to be ruined by an overbearing mother. 

Still, she understood. She saw the way Beca’s anger dissolved quickly into despair, and it make enough sense. To a  _much_ smaller extent, she was feeling the exact same rollercoaster too. 

Granted, she was  _in control_ of her emotions, but…

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Beca grumbled, and Chloe laughed. 

“I know,” she said, “She had to grow up eventually.” 

“But why does it have to be  _now_?” Beca turned over onto her back, scooting up so that her head was in Chloe’s lap. Chloe started to twirl Beca’s hair, sighing. 

“It’s not like it’s all of the sudden,” Chloe said. “It’s been happening. And it’s going to  _keep_ happening. Day after day until one day we just realize that she’s the one taking care of us.” 

Beca snorted. “That’s kinda already how it is, Chlo.” 

“Fair point. But you get it. Growing up isn’t, like, one singular moment. And it’s certainly not going to be brought about by Steve Posen, of all people.” 

“That boy…” Beca’s hands instinctively balled into fists, her words being muttered through gritted teeth, but Chloe interrupted before Beca could say anything more. 

“Is impossibly nice, adorable, sweet, and loves Emily more than he loves his own brother most days,” she said. Beca closed her eyes. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“So,” Chloe hummed, tugging at Beca’s head to push it back up to sitting position. “When are you going to crawl back with your tail between your legs?” 

“When she apo–”

“Oh no,” Chloe interjected, “This one is entirely on you.” 

“Fine,” Beca groaned, shifting to get ready to stand. “If I shout uncle, you’re gonna need to be there to hold me back.” 

“Well, we’ve certainly got the hand-cuffs for that,” Chloe muttered, and Beca glared at her quickly with a slight grin on her face before racing up the steps. 

Chloe knew that her role was to stay in the living room. Let two stubborn women duke it out in the kindest way either of them could manage. 

But that wasn’t entirely in her nature. So she set her phone timer for five minutes - barring the possibility that she would hear shouting or yelling - and when it went off, she slipped up the steps, making sure to avoid those that creaked too loudly. 

The crack in the doorway to Emily’s room was just large enough for her to see through, and when she looked in, she saw Beca, perched at the end of the bed with her back pressed against the headboard, and Emily cuddled into her right side. There was a wide smile on Emily’s face, and one that was a little more forced on Beca’s, but when Chloe listened in, it was clear what was making her daughter grin. 

“He’s the  _best_ , Ma,” Emily said. “Like, of course you know that. But, I don’t know, it’s like one day it was just like… _bam!_ I’ve got a crush on Steve Posen.” 

Chloe wouldn’t laughed if she wasn’t playing spy at the moment, because she could  _see_ Beca trying to hold in her groan. The roll of her eyes, out of Emily’s line of sight, was enough to send a burst of giggles up Chloe. The giggles, however, were followed with pride, when she heard her wife swallow any resistance she had boiling over and replace it with, 

“That’s good, kid. You kinda deserve nothing but the best.” 


	15. The One With Immaturity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovechild au where beca and chloe are more immature than their child? :) — sent by anonymous

“Ew, gross,” Beca scowled at the plate set in front of her, looking warily at the spinach that she was immediately quartering off to keep away from the meat. Or…well…the meat _substitute_ , which was some white block of nothingness that scared Beca almost as much as the known danger of dark green did. 

Emily promptly ignored the comment, skirting around the table to put Chloe’s plate down. The redhead was grinning, chin resting in the bridge she’d created with her fingers, her eyes beaming with pride. Beca met the stare with a slight grimace, which only deepened Chloe’s smile so that there were creases at the corners of her eyes. 

“Thanks, Em,” she said sweetly, looking up at her daughter before the younger girl ran back to the sink and picked up her plate. In a matter of moments, they were all stationed around the table, Beca with her head resting on her fist, which was slowly rising up on her cheek as she sunk her head deeper. 

“You have to eat it,” Emily countered, watching the way Beca was flipping the food around with consideration. Looking like she’d been caught, Beca glanced up quickly, eyes bugged before she was able to comb down the initial panic of being caught and channel it into a glare. 

“Who’s the adult here, dude?” she said, pointing her fork at Emily. The younger girl rolled her eyes, looking over at her mom, who was working on the same piece of tofu as she was five minutes ago. 

“Mom? Whaddya think?” 

Chloe smiled while chewing. She held her thumb up, nodding, but she was never very good at acting - despite her “acclaimed” years on the stage in high school. 

“You don’t have to like it,” Emily said, looking back and forth between her parents. She reached out for the salt, pouring it lightly on the spinach. “You just have to eat it. Doctor’s orders.” 

“For your information, I’m  _below_ the weight for my age group, Em,” Beca fought. Her plate was becoming a trash heap of mixed foods, as she just kept stirring it all together. 

“Yeah, and all your stats are ungodly bleak for someone your age, weight, and stature,” Emily argued. She took another bite, humming to herself. “You act like I’m torturing you. I’m just trying to make sure we live off of something more than, yunno, Chinese take-out and Doritos dust.” 

“Excuse you,” Beca scoffed, “I seem to recall a Ms. Emily Beale-Mitchell who  _loves_ the Purple Turtle’s Kung Pao chicken.” 

“Yes, but that’s a deliciously, Ma,” she said, “You live off of that shiii—-z,” she caught herself quickly, shooting a nervous glance at Chloe, who’s eyes had narrowed. After a brief exchange of glances, she kept talking. “It’s gonna kill you! And don’t get me started on the dangerous effects of growing up orphaned, because if you think that being the daughter of an acapella duo hasn’t already altered my main developmental years, then you’re in for a treat when you read the statistics. Because I’ve read that 8 out of 10 kids put in foster care a–” 

“Em,” Chloe cautioned, finally swallowing the bite she’d been working on since the beginning of dinner. She put her fork down for the time being, choosing a more silent route of protest than her wife. “What’ve we said about looking that stuff up on the internet?” 

Emily sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “That it only encourages negative running thoughts, and that if I was serious about trying to stop my worrying, I should stop going on WebMD.” 

She recited it like a chant, which, really, it had become, considering how many times her parents had to tell her - over and over - not the let the internet scare her into never leaving her room. She blamed them, though, really, because not only was she given Beca’s genes of silent panic, but she was also blessed with Chloe’s penchant for assuming the worst. Sure, most days she maintained a sunny personality, but she  _was_ the third grader that memorized every fire route in the school just in case of emergency and demanded she have a neon orange vest at the age of nine so that the “cars would know when to stop and when to go”. 

“We’re not going to die,” Beca chimed in, still refusing to take a bite of her food. 

“Well, I mean, Emily has a point, Beca,” Chloe jumped in. “You  _do_ eat pretty unhealthily.” 

“Me?” Beca squealed, scooting out of her chair slightly. “You’re the one that eats cupcakes for breakfast! Not to mention,  _who_ makes the world’s greatest nachos? You’re an enabler!” 

“That is  _totes_ not true, Beca!” Chloe argued, “You know that I run every morning.”

“Yeah, so that you can eat have a container of frosting every night!” 

“Oh my god, that’s not even true! Emily, she’s totes lying right now!” 

“Oh, sure, combat my very  _valid_ arguments by pulling the kid into this,” Beca shouted. 

“I wasn’t pulling her into this, and besides  _you_ started it!”

“No! You did!”

“What?” 

“Guys!” Emily shouted, slamming her hands on the table. The two women silenced immediately, looking guiltily up at Emily and then avoiding eye contact. Chloe was nibbling on the end of her fork while Beca was pulling at the ends of her hair, and Emily watched both of them with nothing short of frustration. 

“I make  _one -_  count it -  _one_ healthy meal for you guys, and suddenly it turns into a knock-down fight?” she said, standing up. Somewhere within the conversation, she’d finished her meal easily, and she picked up her plate to put it near the sink. 

“I’m sorry you’re angry, Em, but–” 

“Oh, I’m not angry,” Emily said, her voice short. “I’m just disappointed.” 

Chloe looked down at her plate, her face twisting into her signature pout, while Beca bit her lip nervously. 

“You guys are awesome, and it’d be nice if I had you around for a long time,” Emily continued, her voice softer, “But if you’re gonna be dicks about this, then, fine, eat all your troubles away from all I care.” 

She walked slowly out of the room, void of the tell-tale stomping and arm-crossing that normally punctuated her fights with her parents. If Chloe wasn’t feeling so guilty, she would’ve wondered when, exactly, Emily had learned to be so mature. It was scary, really, how she managed to maintain the classic Beca coldness. 

“Hey,” she said, turning around quickly to catch Emily before she went upstairs. “Watch your language next time, young lady!” 

Emily huffed as she threw herself down two steps, just enough to peer back into the kitchen. “You!” was all she said, her voice exasperated. 

She chose to ignore the way Beca was snickering like someone who’d gotten away with something in class. Which meant, logically, that she had to ignore the sounds that followed long after she closed the door - sounds that didn’t seem to be  _unlike_ that of a food fight happening downstairs. Sure enough, Beca had thrown a piece of limp spinach Chloe’s way, and, in retaliation, Chloe had chucked a small crumble of tofu at Beca. When Emily came back downstairs to check on the ruckus, she found the entire table covered in food remains. 

“What the…” 

Chloe’s eyes shot up as a warning glance, so Emily didn’t finish her sentiment, instead just staring at the color scattered over the table. Beca was fishing a piece of spinach out of her hair, still laughing slightly at the entire event. When Emily glared at her, she stopped, though, biting her lip to hold it back. 

“Sorry,” she said shortly, and Emily had crossed her arms. Chloe reached down, holding up her plate, which was, admittedly, empty. 

“Clean plate award?” she said weakly, cracking a small smile. Beca chuckled behind her, unable to hold it in, and Emily had to bit hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing herself. 

“Yeah,” Beca added from behind her, holding up her plate, “Technically I’m done too, Mom.” 

 


	16. The One Where Emily's Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're still taking prompts um could you do one where Beca or Chloe caught Emily (lovechild) making out with a boyfriend and how they react to it. Love your writing dude! — sent by anonymous

“Hey, Em, can you – oh shit!” 

“Beca,” Chloe shouted from the bottom of the steps, “Language, please.” 

“Yeah, no, yeah yeah no, um…” Beca ran down the steps, skipping two and nearly tripping at the bottom of them. She was clutching the banister tightly, and it looked like she’d seen a ghost. 

“There are biscuits in the oven, so if you remember to take them out in thirty minutes then I’ll-”

“Chloe,” Beca muttered under her breath. She approached the redhead, who was currently flitting around the kitchen engrossed in her pre-dinner rituals. Quickly, she grabbed the woman’s arm with her pincher fingers, which resulted in a quick, high-pitched squeal from Chloe. 

“Beca, what the heck, chill out,” she grumbled, yanking her arm back. 

“I saw a thing,” Beca blurted, which made Chloe turn around and face her wife for the first time in their interaction. 

“What?” 

“A th-thing, a thing. I saw a thing,” she repeated, stuttering. She had her hands pressed against her forehead, and she was shaking. Chloe took a moment to take her wife in, concerned, before reaching a cautious hand out to put on Beca’s shoulder. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked quietly. 

“No,” Beca said under her breath. “No, not at all. Our daughter’s up there playing tonsil hockey with a Posen, and now everytime I close my eyes I see them like…god…eating each other’s faces. What the fuck, Chlo!”

Lightly, and on instinct, Chloe slapped Beca on the back of her head. 

“It’s a crisis moment, Chloe, I think I’m allowed to curse,” she shot back. Chloe tutted, looking at her wife with lips pursed. 

Then, her resolve broke, and put her chin on Beca’s neck, running her hands up and down the woman’s shoulders. “Hey, Babe, breathe.” 

“I hate yoga,” Beca bit back, but Chloe’s breath was near her ear, and she unconsciously began matching the beat of her breaths to the redheads. “I’m traumatized,” she whined when she finally calmed down, resting her head on the table. Chloe chuckled to herself, light enough that Beca didn’t hear it. 

“Babe, we’ve traumatized that poor girl enough that she deserves to get some payback,” Chloe reasoned, “And I think being caught getting hot and heavy with Steve was just a traumatizing for her as it was for you.” 

“Ugh,” Beca groaned. “Chloe there was so much…like…fumbling.” 

Chloe laughed, scooting Beca over on the barstool so they were both balanced there. 

“It’s gonna be alright,” she said sagely, still rubbing circles against Beca’s back. 

“Oh God,” Beca said, suddenly realizing something. “Do you think she’s using protection?  _Do you think she’s having sex? CHLOE WHAT IF SHE’S PREGNANT.”_

“It’s,” Chloe said slowly, “Gonna. Be. Alright.” 

Beca let out a deep breath, nodding to reassure herself. “Yeah,” she said, “Yeah. Yeah. Yes. Of course. She’s a good kid.”

“She is,” Chloe agreed, humming. 

“Okay,” Beca said, breathing deeply again. Chloe’s circles on her back paused for a second, and she looked at Beca warily. 

“What?” Beca asked, eyeing Chloe. 

“You’re gonna hate me,” Chloe said, “But you’ve gotta call them down to dinner now.” 


	17. The One Where Emily's Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi I love your mini-fics!! I have a prompt that is kinda hard to put into words but I'm gonna try!! so emily is really only exposed to her moms (obviously) and her aunt Stacie and aunt aubrey, who are dating, and maybe aunt any who is single. when emily goes to kindergarten she is confused because she like doesn't know who she is supposed to like? because there's boys and girls and little five year old emily is a confused little monkey. THANKS! — sent by anonymous

“Momma?” 

Emily’s voice rang out from the backseat of Beca’s car, hesitant and peeking just slightly over the sound of the music that Beca tended to blare through the “totally not a minivan” minivan. Beca glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing Emily strapped up in her carseat, overalls and pigtail braids and uncertainty painted on her face. 

“Yeah, kiddo?” 

“I’m engaged,” Emily said. She was pulling at the ends of her pigtails, picking up Beca’s nervous habit while she inherited Chloe’s wide-eyed look. 

And, if Beca was being honest, she thought this conversation was going to happen  _much_ differently. Because whenever she thought about it, Emily was perched on the edge of the living room couch, considerably larger, considerably older, and considerably less…well…6 years old. 

That didn’t mean, though, that the words didn’t fill Beca with the sort of panic and anxiety that they would’ve twenty years from now. There was and always would be a sort of instinct, knee-jerk reaction to sentences like that coming from her daughter’s mouth, and the sudden stop on the brakes that she’d performed was enough proof of that. 

“W-w-what?” 

Emily bit her lip then, looking like she’d done something wrong. “I’m engaged,” she huffed guiltily, in the same tone she’d used to admit that she played on the big-girl piano earlier that week even though it was off-limits. 

Beca pulled into the driveway, taking a deep breath to still her rapidly beating heart. She was grateful when she turned off the car’s engine and the music stopped, because she didn’t realize how much she needed the silence until it hit her from all sides. 

Chloe, as per usual, was standing in the driveway with her arms crossed, grinning as Beca unbuckled her seatbelt. She threw a quick wave to her wave before racing to pull the doors of the car open and let Emily out. 

“Hey, Babe,” Beca said hesitantly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Chloe, halfway through unbuckling Emily, paused to throw a glance back at Beca. 

“What’d you do?” she asked suspiciously, eying the nervous producer. 

“What? Nothing,” Beca said quickly, “No! Nothing! God. No.” 

“Then why do you look so weird?” Chloe asked, which made Beca roll her eyes. 

“You could be a bit more complimentary of your wife, yunno,” Beca grumbled, which only made Chloe purse her lips to keep her grin in. It wasn’t until she looked at her daughter that the suspicion rose again. 

“Em,” she said slowly, “What about you?” 

“Yeah,” Beca popped in, “Emily has a little announcement.” 

“No I don’t,” Emily said quickly, sitting on Chloe’s hip and holding onto her to stay up. 

Beca sighed, realizing that Chloe was right and her demeanor was less than welcoming or warm. She walked up to the girls, kissing Chloe on the cheek before turning to Emily and rubbing her back lightly. “Come on, kiddo, tell her.” 

“No,” Emily said just as fast, curling into Chloe’s collarbone. “I don’t wanna.” 

“Tell me what?” Chloe finally piped in, boosting Emily up as much as she could. Beca eyed Emily, exchanging a knowing glance. 

“I’m engaged,” Emily said under her breath, biting her nail. 

“Oh!” Chloe started, looking down at the girl. “Well, you don’t seem very excited about the upcoming nuptials, Em.” 

Emily bit at her lip again, suddenly looking beyond scared. Beca continued rubbing circles onto her back, furrowing her eyebrows in concern. 

“Hey, Em, what’s wrong, sweetie?” 

 “You’re gonna get mad,” she said, and if Chloe didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought she heard a slight sniffle. 

“Em, you don’t know that,” Chloe said softly, risking taking a hand off of supporting Emily to push a hair from her face. “What’s up, Buttercup?” 

“Well, I was at the playground today, and we were under the slide, and I was with Ben and Shawn because they’re my friends and I like them a lot, and that’s when Ben said he wanted to get married, and I said yes, and now we’re engaged, and I’m so sorry, Mama, I’m so so so so so so sorry.” 

“Whoa,” Beca put her hand up, cringing when Emily winced away from it. She cautiously put it on Emily’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Em, why would that make us angry?” 

“Because,” Emily sniffed, “Because it’s a boy. And girls don’t like boys.” 

“Oh shit,” Beca muttered, which earned a stern glance from Chloe. “Shoot,” she corrected, grinning slightly. “Shoot.” 

“Okay, Em, um,” Chloe started, boosting the little girl up again. Beca started moving towards the porch, dusting off the dirt there and sitting down. Chloe gratefully followed suite, sore arms relieved when she was able to situate Emily between their laps. 

“So, kid, you know how we celebrate Father’s day?” Beca asked, untying Emily’s shoes. The little girl nodded, still leaning into Chloe’s collarbone. “And you know how your cousins call Uncle Harley ‘Dad’?” 

“Yeah,” Emily said softly. 

“Well,” Chloe piped in, “That’s because my brother - your Uncle Harley - is married to Aunt Angie.” 

“He’s a boy, and she’s a girl,” Beca added. 

“But you guys are girls,” Emily argued, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion in the same way Beca’s always did. Beca looked up at Chloe, biting her lip to keep from smiling. With Emily’s shoes off, she moved her hand up and rock Emily’s knees back and forth. 

“We are,” Beca conceded, “And we’re married too.” 

“So it doesn’t matter,” Chloe said, “You can like boys  _and_ girls. Or just boys. Or just girls. Or some boys and all girls. Or all-”

“She gets it, Chlo,” Beca piped in, “I don’t know if now’s the time for a discussion about the fluidity of sexuality.” 

“It’s never too early to educate,  _Beca,”_ Chloe fought back, which earned a prompt eye roll from Beca, even though she was grinning the entire time. 

“The kid’s got two moms and bisexual godmothers, I think she’s going to be pretty rainbow-friendly, developmentally,” Beca said. Chloe nodded, looking back down at Emily, who was trying to keep up and failing. 

“So I can marry Ben?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. Beca started to open her mouth, the prompt “No” ripe on her lips, but Chloe cut in first. 

“Oh, of  _course_ you can! In fact, we can have a little ceremony here. I can make cupcakes!” 

“Chloe,” Beca cautioned, but the redhead was already bright with excitement. 

“Shhh, Beca, we have planning to do.” 


	18. The One With the Nasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and Chloe's Aca love child AU prompt: 15 year old Emily comes home early from her first job at McDonald's and find her moms doing the nasty. Chloe and Beca are left to an awkward conversation at dinner — sent by anonymous

“We can’t just not address it, Beca,” Chloe said from the bathroom, leaning out the doorway to where Beca was still lying in bed. She hadn’t moved in thirty minutes, since the door opened and three people let out three separate shouts of exclamations that resulted in Beca’s paralysis under the sheets and music blaring from Emily’s room across the hall. 

“I don’t see why not,” Beca grumbled, “She’s got some of my genes, Chlo, which means she’s a master of repression. I say we all just collectively forget that anything happened, and go on our merry way with zero acknowledgement of the situation at all whatsoever.” 

“Beca,” Chloe chided. She emerged from the bathroom with a towel on, toothbrush in hand. “There are two major reasons why that won’t work. One: I pride myself on being a mother who never shames anything having to do with bodies, and if we don’t talk to Emily about this she’s going to think she can’t talk to us when she’s, yunno, needing hel–”

“Gross,” Beca jumped in, wincing, “She’s, like, five years old.” 

“She’s fifteen, Becs,” Chloe butted in, “Which means she’s old enough to be mature about this. And so are you, despite appearances.” 

Beca grumbled something to herself and pulled the covers further up on her chest. 

“But also, two: if there’s no closure about this, you’re never going to feel comfortable…continuing today’s activities, and we’ve successfully made it  _way_ past the seven-year-itch, so I’d really like to, like,  _not_ have to deal with dry spells.” 

Beca groaned, turning over so that her face was planted into her pillow. “We can just rent hotel rooms,” she suggested, her voice muffled by the pillowcase. Chloe sat down cautiously on the edge of the bed, leaning over to reach a hand to Beca’s shoulder. 

“You can do this, Babe,” she said, softly rubbing circles on Beca’s shoulder blade. “You frickin’ gave birth to her, I think you can talk to her briefly about making lo–”

“We are  _not_ calling it ‘making love’ when we talk to her, Chloe Beale-Mitchell,” Beca said quickly, sitting straight up and shoving a determined finger in Chloe’s face. The blanket slipped slightly, but she caught it just as quickly, glaring at the way Chloe was grinning at her. The redhead shrugged, standing up and removing her towel to find clothes to wear. 

“Fine by me,” she hummed, walking into the closet, “But you just agreed to talk to her, so, I win.” 

They decided to get it over with, because Beca had a nasty fight-or-flight instinct that frequently resulted in a “rip off the bandaid” mentality on Chloe’s part. So, once Chloe was changed and Beca was fully clothed (and properly “pumped up”, which involved listening to five mixes on the floor on their bedroom and trying to ignore Chloe’s suggestions of doing a bout of yoga to calm her down, they knocked lightly on Emily’s door, the music still blasting from her walls. 

“I thought I raised her to be better than the Dixie Chicks,” Beca grumbled as they waited for Emily to respond. Chloe slapped her lightly on the shoulder. 

“Do  _not_ blaspheme the name of the Dixie Chicks, Beca Beale-Mitchell, I swear to God,” she said in a sharp whisper, earning a swift chuckle from the other woman. They knocked again, then, and a soft, hesitant “Yeah?” emerged from the other side. With a quick look of assurance towards Beca, Chloe nodded, twisting the handle and walking into the room. 

“Heyyyy,” Beca sang, bending her legs slightly and pulling her face to fake a smile. It was self-deprecating in the very least, and filled the room with a kind of discomfort that would’ve embarrassed Emily if she was at all capable of being more humiliated. 

“Hey,” Emily said, not once looking up from her computer. 

“Can we chat?” Chloe asked, her hands circling over the board at the foot of the bed. 

“Sure,” Emily said non-committally. Beca looked at Chloe worriedly, but Chloe quickly shushed her, moving around to sit on the edge of Emily’s bed. Emily moved her feet to be further away from Chloe. 

“How was work?” Chloe asked. 

“Fine.” 

“Got off early, huh?” Beca chimed in. The comment earned a cough from Chloe and a wince from Emily, with a “gross” muttered under her breath and a groan from Beca. “Sorry, that was…uh…that was poorly worded.” 

“That’s…disgusting,” Emily said quietly, curling more into herself. She’d always very clearly been Chloe’s child - open and playful and almost too welcoming to strangers. The way she commanded a space was clear enough, because she never seemed to try to make herself smaller in the shadow of someone else, though. In that moment, however, her Mitchell lineage became just as clear. Chloe swore she saw in her daughter that same near-fetal position computer balancing trick that she fell in love with all those years ago at Barden - that classic Beca way of somehow taking up less space than humanly possible. 

She reached out, then, attempting to put a hand on Emily’s knee to maybe open up her joints a touch more, but the motion made Emily flinch, so she simply put her hand back down on the comforter. “So Em,” she started, biting her lip, “We wanted to talk to you about what you saw.” 

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Emily said quickly, and Beca cleared her throat. 

“Yeah, see, she’s totally fine. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

Chloe glared at Beca, about to open her mouth when Emily chimed in. 

“Right. Mom, it’s like not a big deal. No discussion needed. I get it.” 

“No, Em,” Chloe cautioned, “Beca. It’s important we talk about this. Becs, you start.” 

Beca’s eyes bulged, and she swiped Chloe lightly on the arm. “Why me?” 

“Because,” Chloe said, “Parenting involves  _teamwork.”_

Beca shifted from where she was standing at the foot of the bed, a slight bounce to her motions like she was about to go on stage and perform. 

“You know, what you saw is…like…it’s natural and…a thing…people do….that’s natural…It’s, like, a natural process, you know, when two people are, um, in love. Or not in love, but…you know…they want to…And…yeah, so, use protection.” 

“Smooth,” Chloe said, which only made Beca glare back at her. Emily looked down at her computer briefly, typing something while Chloe and Beca exchanged a conversation with their eyes. 

“You know, Em, that your mother and I love each other. And it’s really a good thing that you know that we’re, yunno, committed to each other in every way,” Chloe said, using her classic parent-teacher conference voice. 

At that, Emily shut her computer closed, standing up next to Beca. “No,” she said, throwing her arms up, “I’m…just, like, very done with this conversation. I know what sex is, Mom. I’m fifteen. You made me watch  _Moulin Rouge_ with you last week. Just, like, lock the door next time. And….turn on music or something, please, because that whole swearing rule is somehow magically null and void when you guys are doing it.” 

“But I–” 

“Talking, Ma,” Emily said to Beca, holding her hand up. “Be smart and be safe, and if you need brochures on, like, the right practices I’ll pick them up in the guidance counselor’s office or Aunt Stacie’s classroom. Until then, maybe talk to her about sex talks. And, like, making a brochure for how to keep up a sex life with a fifteen year old daughter around.” 

“Em, are you sure you don’t wan–” 

“I’m good,” Emily said quickly to Chloe, “I get it. Healthy and happy sex life…Our bodies are temples…But right now I can’t get the image of you on top of Ma out of my head, so if you don’t mind leaving my room, that would be, like, swell,” she said, clapping once. “No offense.” 

“None taken,” Beca said excitedly, feeling like she got away with something. “Chloe,” she said, “Let’s hit the road,  _please.”_

Chloe stood up, clutching her chest and pouting slightly. “I’m just…” she huffed, and Beca sensed tears behind her voice. She reached an arm out to pull her wife from the room, but Chloe dodged her by throwing Emily into a hug, “I’m just so proud of the confident, sex positive woman you’ve grown up to be.” 

“Thanks,” Emily wheezed under Chloe’s strong hold on her, “But also, Mom, like I said, currently can’t get the image of naked you out of my head, so if you could stop hugging me…”

“Oh!” Chloe said, letting go of her daughter. She ran her hands on her pants, nodding quickly. “Sorry.” 

After a few seconds of all of them standing around, Emily’s eyes darting between the two of them, Beca jumped, grabbing Chloe and pulling. “Come on,” she said quickly, and Chloe nodding, complying. 

“Still proud of you though,” she shouted as she left the room. “Still super proud!” 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minific prompt: beca & chloe teaching their aca-child emily how to sing. your minifics are awesome! — sent by anonymous

Emily grew up within music. 

Chloe, sitting on the edge of her bed before tucking her in, used to tell her that she was so tall because every song she sang grew her another inch. The freckles on her skin were the rests in Beca’s tracks, and the rosiness to her cheeks were melodies to the harmonies in her eyes. All of them grew together, each time a song played. 

From the moment Beca told Chloe she was pregnant, music played her through her life. She was born to a special series of mixes that Beca worked tirelessly on on the nights that Emily kept her up kicking. Some nights, the only way to get her to sleep was to sing her through the hours, and any time they stopped, she’d stir, waking up again as if on cue. 

So there was never a moment when Beca and Chloe sat their daughter down to teach her how to sing, because it came more naturally to her than talking did. In fact, Beca had a week of worry because instead of saying first words, Emily sang them, speaking for entire months in musical notes. Chloe, though, loved it, praying that there wouldn’t be a day when she lost her music (which Beca would always argue with the idea that they couldn’t “very well raise an 18 year old to only communicate via song because the world was not  _actually_ a musical, Chlo”). And even before than, she would sing nonsensical lyrics, the song passing through thin walls at the early hours of the morning and waking Beca and Chloe up before the sun rose. 

“Can I sing?” Emily asked one night, her toes tucked into the crook of her blankets. Beca sat on one side of her, and Chloe sat on the other, both of them joking over Emily’s head until the little girl yawned and pressed the question nervously their way. Chloe furrowed her brow. 

“What do you mean?” Chloe asked, tugging at Emily’s pigtails. 

“I want to know if I can sing,” Emily said. “If I’m good.” 

“Em,” Beca piped up. “That’s not….You’re…..We want….” 

“You and Mom can sing, Ma,” she said. She was staring at her tiny fingers, fiddling them nervously. “But I don’t think I can.” 

“Why do you think that?” 

“Because I don’t sound like you,” she answered. 

“Emily,” Chloe scooted closer to Emily, putting her arm around her shoulder. “No matter how you sound, you’ve got a beautiful voice.” 

“No matter how you sound,” Beca said, “You should never stop singing if you love it.” 

“Do you love it?” Chloe asked. Emily bit her lip, but her smile was rising up quickly. 

“Yeah,” she said excitedly, her eyes lighting up past their previous nervousness. Beca beamed back at her, reaching out both hands to push back the little girl’s hair. 

“Good,” she said. She pressed her forehead to the little girl’s. “I would’ve kicked you out if you said otherwise.”

Chloe shoved her away from their daughter, scoffing. “Beca!” 

“Sorry!” Beca said, laughing. She sobered up, pinching Emily’s cheek. “No, I’m kidding. But, Em, if you love it, never stop it.” 

“Do you understand that?” Chloe asked. Emily, whose eyebrows were furrowed, nodded very seriously. Chloe hugged her closer to her chest, rocking her back and forth. When she looked over at Beca, the woman was trying her best to keep something in. Chloe rolled her eyes, smiling too. “You can tell her, if you want to.” 

“Tell me what?” Emily perked up, facing Beca. 

“That even though it doesn’t matter how you sound,” Chloe started, looking to Beca to finish the sentence. 

“You’ve got an  _amazing_ voice,” Beca gushed, taking her turn to hug Emily. “But, like, don’t go around bragging about it. Mom’ll get jealous.” 

“Hey!” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Check out mah tumblah (flabbergasties)


End file.
